


Harry Potter and the American Thief

by aboutmalfoy



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Acephobia, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Asexual Character, Blood Prejudice, Character Redemption, Don't Let Me Fool You, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Grief/Mourning, Headcanon, Idiots in Love, Ilvermorny, Ilvermorny House Theories, LGBTQ, M/M, Magical Theory, Mentions of homophobia, Minor Character Death, Mutual Pining, My Personal Opinions, POV Harry Potter, Self-Indulgent, Slow Burn, So many OCs, Sorta Plot Heavy, This is a Whole Lot of Self Indulgence, Trans Character, Transphobia, You've been warned, diversity, made up histories, no seriously, well kinda
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-08
Updated: 2018-04-22
Packaged: 2019-04-20 07:00:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 50,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14255487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aboutmalfoy/pseuds/aboutmalfoy
Summary: At the Battle of the Department of Mysteries, Voldemort is defeated, and Sirius not only lives on, but gains his long deserved freedom. Both agreeing that they need a fresh start, far away from the press and the trauma of their entire lives, Sirius and Harry decide to pick up and move to the United States. While his godfather settles down in a Boston, Massachusetts flat, Harry transfers to Ilvermorny to start his 6th year. But the American Wizarding school, as it turns out, isn’t exactly the quiet refuge Harry had been expecting. And what, for the love of Merlin himself, is Malfoy doing here?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Honestly, everyone knows I don’t own Harry Potter. Anything you can recognise as Joanne’s is Joanne’s. I’m just here to have a little fun with it. Anyways, this took me a very long time and was a lovely project to distract me from life. I hope someone likes reading it as much as I liked writing it. Also, I have to send love to anyone who encouraged me on this, especially my best friend H, who’s input really saved me from myself at one point. That said, this hasn’t actually been beta read all the way through due to circumstances, so please feel free to point out any mistakes, as they are all my own. Now, on we go.

All the bracing in the world would have made little difference, Harry had been certain about that. It wasn’t much of a consolation, however, when he hit the ground hard enough that the impact rattled his skull, sending him reeling for several seconds. 

He’d only gone by portkey once, for the World Cup, and he found he liked it even less this go round. To be fair, that time he hadn’t been crossing the bloody Atlantic. Greater distance couldn’t very well be an improvement. And, as Hermione had warned him over and over again, water and magical travel had a bit of a rocky relationship. 

For all that, however, Sirius didn’t seem any worse for wear as he landed just beside Harry, unfairly upright on two legs. 

“All right, Harry?” Sirius asked, strain hardly evident in his voice. The green eyed boy only nodded and clasped the offered hand, pulling himself to his feet.

Harry spared a moment to take in the sight of the tall buildings in the distance. They stood atop a grassy ridge just off the edge of the sand, with the sound of the ocean crashing just behind them. There weren’t any muggles about yet, of course, the sun only just peeking through the morning grey. It had been mid-morning when they’d left; seeing the sun rise felt like they had gone back in time. In a way, they had.

“Goodness,” said a voice, “I haven’t seen a landing so rough in weeks.” 

Harry and Sirius turned in unison to see a short, dark haired woman bustling toward them, giving Harry a sympathetic look.

Sirius reached out to shake the presumed witches hand, beaming brightly at her as he introduced himself and Harry. The smile instantly made him look a decade younger, and the witch held on for just a moment too long before stepping backwards. 

“Glad you made it here easy, at least,” she told them. “There can be... trouble with international travel sometimes.”

Sirius nodded. “We thought of getting here on one of those flying muggle contraptions,” he confided, “but in the end it seemed too risky.” 

The witch’s eyebrows furrowed at first, but a look of understanding quickly came about. “Ah, you mean the airplanes. Actually, they’re pretty safe. In fact, there’s a significantly higher chance of portkey malfunction over a large body of water than there is– well, it doesn’t matter now does it? You’re here.” 

Harry smiled at that, already missing Hermione’s informative babbling. His heart panged for a second, thinking of how much she’d wanted him to stay. 

“We are,” Sirius agreed. “Though I’m definitely hoping for easier travel from here on.” 

“Oh, not staying in Portland then?” she asked. 

“‘fraid not,” replied Sirius. “We’re going to get me settled and then the lad off to school in a couple of weeks.” 

The witch eyed Harry with new interest. “Transferring, hm?” 

Harry nodded, trying not to show how nervous he felt about it. Even after a number of mental pep talks, a small part of him still worried this was all a mistake. 

The witch beamed at him, face flooding with pride. “I can tell you that you’ll love it,” she gushed. “I went to Ilvermorny myself, I mean obviously. So much fun. Did you know it’s got, I think, the second or third largest student body of wizards and witches in the world?” 

Harry couldn’t help but smile at her enthusiasm, assuring her that yes, he had known that. It was one of his many reasons for choosing to come to America. The largest amount of primarily English speaking witches and wizards his age was a selling point. It meant plenty of room for him to fade into the background. No more stares. No more press. 

After everything that had happened that night at the Ministry, then Sirius being freed and granted custody of him, Harry had known that the spotlight was only going to get brighter. He had indeed spent the last weeks in London being accosted by nearly everyone, and he’d had Rita Skeeter pestering him ceaselessly in an attempt to get him to help her win back her readers’ trust. He’d been quite clear on what he’d thought of that. 

The truth had exposed her and all the rest of them. Harry’d had absolutely no plans to interfere with the public outrage. He’d been much too busy with the fact that Voldemort was dead  _ again  _ and dodging question after question about it _.  _ There’d been nothing for it, Harry was right in the centre of it all, like always, and had become more famous than ever. So when he’d thought of a way out, he hadn’t given himself time to second guess it. And Sirius, for no shortage of his own reasons, had been far more than willing to go along with him. 

“It was time for a change,” Sirius was saying, echoing Harry’s thoughts. Leaving his friends was the hardest part to go through with. But there were letters, and Christmas hols. Overall, there wasn’t anything that could have convinced him to stay; this was what he needed to do for himself. 

The witch—who finally introduced herself as Sharon—guided them away from the beach and through the city. She explained that overseeing International magical travel was her job and making sure new arrivals didn’t get hopelessly lost was a legitimate part of that. She easily caught them a bright yellow cab to get to the train station and paid the cab driver in muggle money. Sharon felt the need to promise that these trains worked just the same as magical ones, as though Harry and Sirius would be threatened by the idea of non-magical travel, likely due to Sirius’s comment about aeroplanes.  

Sharon also assured them what felt like twenty seperate times that they’d absolutely love America and that Harry was going to love his new school “even more than Hogwarts.” Harry didn’t let on how very much he doubted that and smiled politely at her instead. They left her waving as the train pulled away. 

The trip took a little less than three hours, but it took Harry and Sirius another hour stumbling around asking muggles for directions to find the hidden entrance to Wizarding Boston, which Sharon had informed them was through a bathroom wall in a muggle establishment ironically called The Other Side. 

When they finally made it inside and passed through, both Sirius and Harry briefly wondered if it had even worked. There was no obvious reveal or sign of magic. They still stood in what seemed to be the same bathroom, except that it was as though they’d been turned round towards the exit again. Shrugging at Harry, Sirius started for the door. 

Harry wished he’d paid more attention when they’d come in; maybe then he’d of been able to pick out the differences. As it was, Harry couldn’t be sure that anything had changed, until they were back outside that was. 

It brought back memories of entering Diagon Alley for the first time, only this place appeared far less crowded. Possibly because the streets were simply wider. Before entering the cafe, though, there had been a muggle to be found every five feet. Now there was far more breathing room, and far more interesting shops from what Harry could see. The easily distracted part of him wished they were here just to explore. Maybe he’d get the chance before he had to leave for school, he mused.   

Harry’s thoughts turned to Sirius as they walked, and he watched his godfather from the corner of his eye. What was the older man making of all this? It was he who would actually be living here after all, not so much Harry. Well, not for the next couple years at least. Who knew what he’d choose to do once he finished at Ilvermorny? Harry certainly didn’t. For Sirius, though, all this was to be home. 

Thankfully, Sirius seemed happy and at ease, smiling and nodding at everyone who passed them. Eventually, once he’d likely had enough of simply hoping they were headed the right way, he stopped someone and asked them if they knew where Pukswood Complex was. They followed the young witches directions all the way to Sirius’s new flat. 

It wasn’t until Harry entered to find all their furniture and possessions arranged and waiting for them that it finally sunk in that he’d officially left his old life behind. He didn’t even bother to feel guilty about the near-crippling relief that went through him at the thought. 

 

‘&’

 

_ “Harry, think about this,” said Hermione, taking a step toward him, “It’s five O’Clock in the afternoon … The Ministry of Magic must be full of workers … How would Voldemort and Sirius have got in without being seen?” Harry … they’re probably the two most wanted wizards in the world … You think they could get into a building full of Aurors undetected?”  _

_ “I dunno, Voldemort used an invisibility cloak or something!” Harry shouted. “Anyway, the Department of Mysteries has always been completely empty whenever I’ve been—” _

_ “You’ve never been there Harry,” said Hermione quietly. “You’ve dreamed about the place, that’s all.” _

_ “They’re not normal dreams!” Harry shouted in her face, standing up and taking a step closer to her in turn. He wanted to shake her. “How d’you explain Ron’s dad then, what was all that about, how come I knew what had happened to him?” _

_ “He’s got a point,” said Ron quietly, looking at Hermione.  _

_ “But this is just — just so  _ unlikely!”  _ said Hermione desperately. “Harry, how on earth could Voldemort have got hold of Sirius when he’s been in Grimmauld Place all the time?” _

_ “Sirius might’ve cracked and just wanted some fresh air,” said Ron, sounding worried. “He’s been desperate to get out of that house for ages—”  _

_ “But why—” Hermione cut herself off, gasping sharply and clutching Harry’s arm. “The mirror!”  _

_ Harry and Ron blinked at her. “What?” said Harry.  _

_ “The two-way mirror,” said Hermione excitedly. “The one Sirius gave you so you could contact him, remember? Go use it. If he answers, we’ll know he’s all right and we can figure all this out from there.”  _

_ “What if he doesn’t answer? Then you’ll believe me and we’ll go, right?” Harry demanded.  _

_ Hermione bit her lip but nodded reluctantly. Harry took off towards Gryffindor, both his friends on his heels. Harry bounded into the dorm and towards his bed, immediately tearing through his things and holding up the mirror in triumph moments later.  _ _   
_ _ “Sirius!” he called into it. “Sirius! Sirius please answer!”  _

_ What followed were the longest seconds of Harry’s life, but eventually the reply came through.  _

_ “Harry?” Sirius asked. “What’s the matter?”  _

_ All three teens exhaled in profound relief, Harry’s so strong that his legs nearly gave out. “Thank Merlin and Godric both,” he breathed.  _

_ “What’s wrong?” Sirius demanded.  _

_ “I had another vision,” Harry answered shakily. “Like the one with Arthur, but this time it was you. I thought—I thought Voldemort had gotten you.”  _

_ “I’m all right, Harry. It wasn’t real,” came the reply. “But …”  _

_ “But?” asked Hermione from behind him.  _

_ “But I’ve always thought your visions mean something, and if I’m right, we might be able to use this to our advantage,” he said decisively.“I’ll call the Order together, whoever’s still available that is. Don’t do  _ anything  _ until you hear from me again.”  _

 

‘&’ 

 

Harry blinked his eyes open, groaning at the realisation that he’d fallen asleep whilst packing. Or re-packing, given that he’d not been here all that long. 

He sighed. While conscious, Harry tried never to think about what could have happened if Hermione hadn’t stopped him from rushing off to the Ministry unprepared that day, but he’d never been able to do a thing about his dreams. He could only be grateful that they no longer set him awake sweating with a blistering scar. Now when he did dream of Voldemort, they never had the realistic quality of his visions. He’d been repeatedly assured, by Dumbledore no less, that they should be nothing more than normal nightmares now, and he chose to believe that rather than dwell. Even if he sometimes did dream of a cold, empty grey… 

Knuckles rapping against his bedroom door sent him nearly a foot in the air. 

“‘bout ready?” Sirius called through it. 

Harry sighed, willing his heart rate to return to normal. “Yeah, just another minute,” he called back. 

He and Sirius had a few hours drive in front of them, since the Ilvermorny Express came from the west. Apparently it was normal for students to apparate or drive to their nearest stop, while most on the East Coast were expected to simply find their way to the school themselves. Harry, as a transfer student—of which, according to the papers he’d received from the staff, there was a fair few besides himself—was set to arrive several hours before the bulk of the student body, and he was perfectly fine with that. The last thing he wanted was the entire school’s eyes on him while he got resorted at sixteen years old. 

Harry tossed the couple of letters he’d gotten from his mates on top before he closed his trunk with a click and stood up, taking a final look around the still mostly bare room before shutting the door behind him and hurrying out.

The Pukswood Complex, like many wizarding complexes in the city, opened out into muggle Boston from the back. It had proved convenient in the couple of weeks that they’d settled in. 

Harry’s godfather had gone a bit overboard when they’d gotten the car. Gold meant a lot of muggle money, and Sirius had insisted on purchasing something brand new and as sturdy as he could find. Harry noticed a few muggles eying the sleek, white jeep appreciatively as they passed by on the pavement. 

The machine seemed to suit Sirius naturally, expensive but understated enough to be comforting. The older man smiled widely at Harry from the driver’s seat, dark sunglasses shielding his eyes and black hair pulled up in a mussed half-bun. 

The radio was switched on before Harry’d even buckled his seat belt. 

Harry’d already learnt that wizards in America didn’t have as much of an aversion to muggle technology or entertainment—something about blending in easier, according to some of Sirius’s new mates—though they did seem to have plenty of their own where the latter was concerned, as well. Sirius had taken to it all rather quickly, talking animatedly to Harry about how, given that he’d grown up the heir apparent to the ‘Noble and Most Ancient House of Black,’ he’d known next to nothing about muggles except what Remus had told him. Only then Sirius would quiet a bit after saying so, like he did whenever Lupin came up. 

Sirius had just shrugged the first and only time Harry had asked. He could tell that it wasn’t nothing, though. For whatever reason, Sirius had expected Lupin to come with them. Harry never risked prying any further, didn’t see a good enough reason to. Sirius didn’t regret moving, and that was what mattered. 

They rode most of the way in companionable silence, except that Sirius somehow sang along to music he was unlikely to have ever heard before. He was crooning along with a woman about how her love should runaway with her when Harry first caught a glimpse of the mountains they were headed towards. 

Harry was stiff with excitement the entire way up, wondering what the school would look like in person. The pictures had made it seem huge, which made sense he supposed, what with that many students to fill it. 

Even with that in mind, the first glimpse of the castle was shocking. It looked like it was composed of several giant, stone manors all fixed together, standing tall and proud in the centre of hundreds of trees. If Hermione were with him, Harry was sure she’d be bursting with endless facts about architecture and no doubt decades of history she’d have read up on. As they got closer to the school, Harry almost wished he’d done so himself. 

His excitement waned a bit, thinking of her and Ron so much. As a kid, Harry hadn’t ever been much at making friends on his own. He’d met Ron before he’d even made it to Hogwarts, and had no idea what he’d of done if he hadn’t. Concentrating on the present, he did his best to dismiss his worries; he’d come here to be left alone, after all, hadn’t he? 

He must have sighed audibly because Sirius eyed him with concern. “All right?” he checked as they parked. 

“Yeah,” Harry promised. “Bit nervous is all.” 

Sirius clapped him on the shoulder good-naturedly. “You’re a Gryffindor first,” he reminded him. “You’ll be fine, brilliant even.” 

When they got out of the car, Sirius pulled him into a crushing hug. Harry returned it fiercely before letting go. He hadn’t noticed the blonde witch until she was nearly upon them. Her blue robes billowed in the mountain air while she shook Sirius’s hand, welcoming them both to America and assuring the older man that Harry would be perfectly safe in their care. When she said that the school was thrilled to have him, without stressing it any, Harry marvelled silently at what it felt like to be just another new student. He felt something inside him loosen. 

“I’m professor Melody Clark, just in case you need to contact someone here or reach Harry for any reason,” she told Sirius. “They always send me out to greet the transfer students, which is actually just an excuse to make sure none get lost between here and the entrance.” 

She and Sirius shared a light laugh. “We wouldn’t want that,” he smiled. 

“We should join your new classmates now,” she said, turning to Harry, “some of them anyway. People trickle in on their own time, easier that way. The Sorting won’t be until three.” 

Harry didn’t ask what they’d be doing until then. He was capable of being patient for a of couple hours. Plus, it couldn’t hurt to try getting to know a few people ahead of time. 

“Don’t forget to use the mirror when you can,” Sirius told him a bit gruffly. They’d both have to get used to being on their own now. 

“Of course,” Harry promised. He watched the jeep as Sirius drove away, finally turning back to professor Clark when it was out of sight. 

She smiled gently, seeming to understand how Harry was feeling. “Follow me.” 

A few minutes later, Harry was ogling up at the huge marble statues on either side of the entrance. 

“Isolt and James,” said the professor, sounding pleased, “our founders. You’ll learn all about them in your History of Magic class.” 

“Is that what you teach?” he wondered, eyes still on the immortalised founders. 

“Oh no, Mrs. Kelley and Mr. Hanson are our History of Magic professors. I teach Care of Magical Creatures, me and professor Connard. History was never my forte in school,” she told him with a chuckle. 

Harry shot her a conspirator’s smile at that, thinking of Professor Binns. 

All thoughts of Hogwarts fled his mind when Harry passed through the front doors. They had come into a circular front room topped by a glass dome, clear sunlight shining in. A wooden balcony ran around beneath it, making him feel observed even though no one was currently occupying it. 

Besides a small crowd of other transfer students, the only other occupants of the space were four massive wood statues of creatures Harry thought he might vaguely remember seeing in a textbook once or twice. The closest one to Harry was a giant bird, the farthest an animal that resembled a jungle cat. Between them stood a horned snake that reminded Harry of Slytherin, and something that looked like a cross between a house elf and a porcupine. On the ground in the centre was a symbol of a complicated knot. 

He turned, aiming to ask professor Clark any of the number of questions crowding his tongue, but she was no longer beside him. It took him a moment to remember what she’d said to Sirius and realise she must have gone back out to wait for more students. Harry had no other option but to shrug to himself and shuffle further into the room. 

A couple of the students turned to look at him when he got close enough, but most were already standing in loose circles, some having conversations in different languages. He instinctively tuned into someone speaking french, since he had some experience with that even if he couldn’t understand it, and Harry’s entire body was already tensing up even before the voice cut off into an  _ alarmingly familiar,  _ overly posh laugh. He turned, silently praying to any diety who might’ve been listening that he’d just gone round the twist and Draco Malfoy was  _ not  _ by some ungodly turn of fate standing in this room. 

Unfortunately for Harry, he was to be proven entirely sane. 

_ “—ma  _ _ mère aimerait … putain!”  _

Malfoy stared at Harry like he’d just killed his crup and started eating it, and Harry doubted he needed a translation for that last bit. 

_ “Quoi?”  _ asked the girl Malfoy had been talking to, clearly bewildered by his outburst. 

The Slytherin ignored her, still watching Harry as if silently willing him to vanish. 

Somehow, it was Harry who managed to find his voice first. “What the bleeding fuck are you doing here Malfoy?” he couldn’t stop himself from demanding, loud enough for his voice to carry across the space. 

The blond scowled, suddenly pushing his way out of the group he’d been standing in and stomping over to Harry, wasting no time in getting right in his face. 

“What are  _ you  _ doing here, Potter?!” he spat, his hands in fists. “I’m quite certain you’ve somewhere else to be, like Hogwarts perhaps, being worshiped by all your pathetic fans and having Skeeter write about what ply toilet paper you use to wipe your arse.” 

Great, he thought sourly. This was just what he needed, his peace shattered before even having been here all of twenty minutes. 

“Piss off,” Harry said, teeth bared. “People are staring.”

“Oh, apologies, I wasn’t aware that it mattered given how you failed to consider that  _ before  _ you pranced in here hollering english at me. In case you hadn’t noticed, everyone in this room thought I’d come from Beauxbatons!” he hissed. 

“Not even sorted yet and already lying to everyone you meet,” summarised Harry, unable to not rise to the bait. “Some things never change.” 

At that, Malfoy’s wand dropped out of the sleeve of his cranberry robes and several people gasped. “You don’t know a thing about me, Potter.” 

Harry scoffed. “As if I would want–”

“What is going on here?”

Harry and Malfoy turned in unison to find professor Clark regarding them severely. Her eyes quickly dropped to take in the sight of Malfoy’s wand before her face darkened considerably. The newest transfer, a young brunette witch, hovered behind her anxiously.

“Is Mr. Malfoy threatening you, Mr. Potter?” she asked, icily calm.

Malfoy’s face paled.  _ “Professeur–” _

“I asked Mr. Potter, Draco. And it’s pretty obvious that you speak english, so I’d drop the act, though I can’t even begin to guess why you tried it in the first place.”

Malfoy looked more fearful than Harry had ever seen him. “I can explain–”

“And yet, I’m still waiting for Harry to answer my question.”

“No,” Harry said hastily, not even fully comprehending why he was defending the Slytherin before his words were tripping over themselves. “He wasn’t doing anything. We were just, er, catching up. And I’m sure he has a good reason for the, uh, french thing, too.”

He could see Malfoy blinking at him, incredulous, in his peripheral, but he remained focused on the professor, trying to look earnest. 

She turned doubtful eyes on Malfoy. “Is that true?”

“Yes,” the blond said, schooling his face at once. “Yeah, we both went to Hogwarts and… we were just talking. I’m sorry for what it looked like, and having my wand out. And for being dishonest with you. It wasn’t anything personal.” 

Her lips pressed into a line thin enough to rival McGonagall. “Right,” she said after a long moment had passed, in a tone that made it clear she didn’t believe them at all but had realised she could do nothing to prove it. She gave them a last warning glare before turning to leave again. 

They both watched the transfer girl helplessly follow her halfway to the doors before facing each other again. 

“Why did you do that?” Malfoy demanded right away.

“Now you’re cross with me for helping you?”

“No,” snarled Malfoy, “I’m cross that you’re even here. I’m cross that I  _ needed  _ you to help me at all.” 

Harry, in a great show of restraint, chose to ignore him rather than start arguing again. “Why did you lie?” he questioned instead. 

“Because, Potter,” Malfoy replied in a low, aggravated tone, “I not only have a father who is locked in Azkaban, but also have a psychotic aunt who seems to have decided neither of her sisters deserve to live any longer, and has nothing better to do with her numbered days on the run than to hunt my all but defenseless mother to the end of the earth. Is that a good enough reason for you?”

Harry could only gape, astonished that Malfoy had actually admitted something like that to him. “Oh.” 

He’d known Bellatrix was among those few on the loose, of course, but without a leader, the Order had been certain the fugitives weren’t enough of a threat to derail his plans. In fact, they’d told him he’d be even safer across the pond. The remaining Death Eaters couldn’t hide forever, after all, and Hermione’d thought it doubtful they’d leave the country. Apparently that assumption had been wrong, at least in case of Bellatrix. Still, it made no sense that, of all the people to hunt down after Voldemort’s fall, Narcissa or Andromeda Tonks would be anywhere near the top of the list. Though he had to admit that the choice likely made perfect sense to someone that deranged. 

Malfoy didn’t seem to like whatever expression must have settled on Harry’s face. 

“I don’t want your pity, Potter,” he warned, sneering. “I want you to refrain from mentioning to anyone that I’m here. The last thing I need is Bella narrowing my mum’s location down to America any sooner than she would have.” 

Harry nodded quickly. He might not like Malfoy, but he didn’t want him thinking he’d mess about with his mum’s  _ life.  _ “I wouldn’t,” he promised vehemently. 

Malfoy blinked and looked away, clearing his throat. “Good,” he mumbled. “Anyway, I should think it’s your turn.” 

“Huh?”

The blond rolled his eyes, exasperated despite how much more relaxed he looked now. “You, in America. Why?” 

“Oh, just what you said,” Harry answered, subconsciously noting how strange it was that this seemed to be turning into a civil conversation. He was sure if they were anywhere else, they’d both have walked away by now. But, here at least, there wasn’t anyone else to talk to, besides strangers that was. 

Malfoy raised an eyebrow. 

“Skeeter and all the rest of them,” Harry explained. “After Voldemort… I was just tired, I guess. I wanted somewhere I could just, er, not be the ‘Boy Who Lived.’” 

Malfoy opened his mouth to say Merlin knew what, but just then professor Clark—who must have re-entered at some point—called for quiet. Everyone turned to face her where she stood near the centre of the room. “It is a little early,” she admitted, “but it turns out that everyone’s already made it, so we may as well get started. And don’t worry, I’ll be explaining our Houses once everyone is Sorted. Now, is there anyone who’d like to kick us off?” 

There was silence for several seconds before a blonde, french girl stepped forward. Harry recognised her as the one Malfoy had been talking to when Harry’d first seen him. 

“Great,” said the professor. “Just stand on this knot here on the floor, yes there we go.” 

A long minute went by in which nothing happened, and Harry exchanged a shrug with Malfoy, before the wooden elf-porcupine shifted, it’s arrow now pointing straight upwards.

“Pukwudgie,” declared Clark delightedly. 

Harry had to admit this had some merit over a talking hat deciding. By the looks on the faces around him, more than a few had made similar judgements. After that, everyone seemed a lot more eager to take their turns. The first student to be sorted into “Wampus” jumped about a foot into the air when the giant cat roared. She hadn’t been the last to do so. 

It was all rather brilliant, the glowing stone on the Horned Serpent statue spectacular when it lit up as well, he thought. 

Malfoy was called up eventually, and, when the enormous wooden bird beat its wings, the professor did not sound particularly pleased to announce him a Thunderbird, a sour look flashing across her face. 

The first time Harry had been sorted, he’d been so focused on not being part of the ‘evil’ House that he hadn’t properly enjoyed it. This time, however, there was no clearly bad option, that he knew of at least. Still, he was surprised when the bird beat its large wings for him as well. 

When he risked looking at Malfoy, the blond’s face betrayed nothing, but Harry knew he was trying to figure out what he and Harry could have so fundamentally in common that they’d be placed in the same House. Harry, having nearly sorted into Slytherin six years ago, had more insight about that, but was still burning with curiosity given how different everything here had been thus far. 

“I do admit I’m biased,” professor Clark began with a chuckle, “I was a Thunderbird for seven years, after all. Our element is the soul. We’re usually very invested in self-discovery, and we crave new opportunity. Thunderbirds are adventurers, we create storms.” 

Harry smiled, content with that answer. Malfoy seemed to be too, judging by the way his shoulders had loosened. The other couple of Thunderbirds in the room appeared equally as pleased, sharing grins with each other. 

“Pukwudgie,” she then continued, “favor their hearts. They are very empathetic and value sincerity. As you get to know the actual Pukwudgies who help here in the castle, you’ll begin to see where that comes from. Those of Pukwudgie House are healers, and have a wholesome appreciation for life itself.” 

“Lovely, American Hufflepuffs,” Malfoy whispered, and Harry elbowed him, trying to smother his smile. 

“Horned Serpent is sometimes referred to as the first House, since Isolt Sayre herself was one. Serpents represent the mind, and value intellectual pursuit. They are scholars above all. When a Horned Serpent finds their calling, nothing can keep them down.” 

There were several nods among those who’d been named Serpents, radiating satisfaction. Harry wondered briefly if Hermione would have been a Serpent, deciding it seemed likely. 

“And last but not least, Wampus. Our warriors. Those of Wampus House represent the body, and place high value on morality and generosity. They won’t stand for disrespect or hatred,” she finished. 

_ Or maybe she’d sort there, _ he thought. Harry hadn’t been able to help trying to mentally match these houses to his friends at Hogwarts, but it didn’t seem to be working anyway. The traits were getting mixed up in his head, all too different and similar at once. He supposed it didn’t matter. Harry’d always be a Gryffindor, it was only now he could be a Thunderbird too. 

“There are a couple things I need to address before I give you your class schedules or directions to your common rooms,” professor Clark said, calling attention back to her. “The first is that all of you are absolutely required to come to the sorting tomorrow for the first years. No skipping out. You’ll be coming to the opening feast as well; all of you are a part of this school now and are expected to participate as such… The second item is a bit more difficult.” 

Harry and Malfoy exchanged a glance at her change in tone, and a murmur spread through the room before the professor hushed them. 

“We don’t disclose this in the brochures or packets you would have received, not to deceive you but to avoid causing panic. But it is true that this is a safety concern and is non-negotiable. For the remainder of your time here at Ilvermorny, you will be partnered.”

It took her a bit longer to settle the whispering this time. 

“You will be paired with someone from your House, who is as close in age as you as possible, and is preferably your same gender. This is all to make it easier to remain with one another at all times, or as often as you are able.”

“Why?” someone called. 

The professor sighed, looking put out. “It is a preventative measure meant to protect you. We do not allow students to roam the school by themselves. That said, anyone found by themselves will be reprimanded. If you cannot be with your partner, you must make sure that someone else is. If your partner is found alone, and you are found to have allowed it purposefully, you will face a similar punishment.” 

The room was in uproar by the time she’d finished, nearly twenty students all clamouring to demand specifics from her. But Harry could tell she was not going to oblige them. 

“Silence!” she finally shouted. “If anyone wishes to retract their transfer and leave the school in light of this, that can be arranged!” 

That quieted everyone effectively. Apparently, no one was interested in that offer, least of all Harry. The professor nodded as if this wasn’t a surprise. “Good,” she said. “Now, your partners. There are nineteen of you, which unfortunately means that you, Esmerelda, will have to wait to be partnered at the Sorting tomorrow.” 

The girl she had spoken to looked young enough to be a first year herself, so this was probably not the worst case scenario, Harry thought. 

“Everyone else will be paired with someone in this room.” 

With that, she began calling names. Harry didn’t even react when his and Malfoy’s names were called one after the other. Clark had no doubt decided to partner them as soon as Harry had insisted they’d just been “catching up.” 

Malfoy’s only response was the release of a long, resigned breath. As though this wasn’t laughably unbelievable. Here they both were, in North America, where they’d literally gone to escape their lives and by all odds should have therefore never seen each other again, but were instead somehow being forced to spend the majority of the next two years joined at the hip. 

If only he was even a little surprised. 

‘&’

  
  


Harry and Malfoy stared at each other, locked in some sort of strange stalemate. 

Every transfer student had been assigned to dorms, but not bed numbers. They weren’t  _ required  _ to sleep near each other, and they both knew it. But there was also no one else assigned to this room yet, and neither of them had made any new friends before or after the Sorting. Or, well, Malfoy might of done before Harry had rather permanently derailed his efforts. It made no difference now.

So here they stood, holding their luggage and mentally waging battle over whether they’d be choosing adjacent beds and calling truce, or unpacking as far as possible from each other and proceeding to make the next two years hell for the both of them. 

It was all to be decided right here, apparently. Only neither of them had moved even a step away from the doorway. 

Eventually, the awkwardness reached its peak, and Harry spoke through his teeth. “Just put your things down, Malfoy.” 

Malfoy promptly dropped his things onto the closest bed, and looked back at Harry, lips twitching. 

_ Bloody conniving bastard, _ Harry thought sourly. 

He mentally sighed, already sure he’d regret this. Then he walked over to the bed directly beside Malfoy’s and set down his trunk. He looked back up at the blond, daring him to say anything. 

Instead, the Slytherin smiled. It seemed oddly … genuine. 

Harry looked away. 

‘&’

 

The official Sorting the next morning went much the same as theirs had, only that it was louder and far more crowded. Knowing how many students went to Ilvermorny and seeing it in person were vastly different things. Even Malfoy seemed shocked, having exchanged increasingly wide-eyed glances with Harry as more and more people filled in until they’d been squeezed so close to each other on the balcony that they practically occupied the same space. 

Malfoy seemed incredibly discomfited, struggling for nonexistent elbow room until a couple of people nearby shot him irritated looks. 

Harry was drawn back into the Sorting when the crowd gasped, a small girl was standing on the knot, watching in delight as each of the four statues reacted at once. The Gryffindor watched in amazement as the rest of the school grinned and waited with bated breath. The girl glanced at someone to her left and then shyly pointed at the Pukwudgie. Everyone erupted into cheers and jests as the girl shuffled off centre and another took her place. 

Once the whole group had been sorted, it didn’t take much longer for them to be paired, a small, red haired witch excitedly accepting a blushing Esmeralda as her partner. 

Harry was certain the American kids must have been expecting to be paired, because there was no fuss like there’d been with Harry’s group. He wondered for the millionth time why it was necessary as everyone finally begun filing off the balcony. Harry let himself be ushered into the Dining Hall—he and Malfoy had gotten to see it last night for a small dinner, and it had been impressive then, but was now even more so, filled with tens of large circular tables donning colourful table cloths and various decor—eager to begin the Feast, almost not noticing that the first years were being led into another door opposite the rest of the mob. 

“They’re getting their wands,” said a voice, answering the question he’d not asked aloud. The young woman attached to it had sat down right across from Harry and Draco. Harry stared at her a moment; her hair was a dark bush so like Hermione’s, but her skin was several shades lighter, her eyes a clear hazel instead of brown. She was also a few inches taller and just the slightest bit slimmer. 

Malfoy seemed to have caught the likeness as well, judging by the sharp breath he’d taken in when she’d first sat down. Though he’d recovered before Harry did. 

“And you are?” he asked. 

“Cosima,” said another girl, sitting down beside her. Everything about this girl’s appearance was striking. She was nearly as tall as Harry himself, which was excessive, and lean, with hair so light it nearly matched Malfoy’s. Piercing, crystal blue eyes sparkled at him. 

Malfoy rolled his eyes at whatever expression Harry had on, obviously unimpressed. Of course he wouldn’t be, thought Harry, he saw someone equally arresting every time he looked in the mirror.

“You’re Cosima?” clarified Malfoy. 

Both girls laughed. “No,” said the first girl. “She was saying that  _ I’m _ Cosima. This is Celine.” 

“What did you mean before, about wands?” Harry asked. 

“She means the first years,” said Malfoy. Harry gave him a questioning look and the Slytherin blew out a breath. “Merlin, Potter, did you honestly not read  _ any  _ of that shite they sent us? No, of course not, it must’ve slipped my mind who I was speaking to.” 

“Would you just explain?” Harry snapped. 

Celine made a feline noise, and Cosima giggled. Malfoy shot them a flat look before turning one of forced patience on Harry. “They take the first years to another hall, they’re chosen by wands and then given their first set of school robes. Rites of passage and all that rot.” 

“Oh,” said Harry. “I hadn’t heard that.” 

“We noticed.” 

“Don’t—”

“Do you two always bicker like old ladies?” Cosima interrupted, sounding entertained.

Malfoy scowled at her. “Why are you sitting here?” 

“You’re transfers right?” said Celine, ignoring the question. 

“Is it that obvious?” Harry wondered. 

“It’s not a rule, but it’s kinda expected that you wear your school robes to the opening feast,” said a tall boy, as he sat down at Harry’s left. He gestured to Harry’s whole body with a wave of his hand. “You aren’t. You might as well be wearing a sign that says Transfer.” 

Judging by the way Malfoy was staring at him, Harry hadn’t been the only one to note the incredible resemblance to Blaise Zabini. And it wasn’t just a trick of sight like it’d been with Cosima. The boy’s skin was just as dark, head buzzed not quite to the scalp but close. He stared at them through obsidian eyes, lips curled up smugly. 

Harry looked around to discover that yes, he and Malfoy were of very few students not clad in blue and cranberry. Neither of them had even thought about robes before they’d left the dorm. The boy was right. 

“This is uncanny,” announced Malfoy, still staring as if he couldn’t help it. 

“He’s a bit shorter, though,” Harry pointed out thoughtfully. 

“And his face isn’t as sharp,” Malfoy added after a moment, relaxing slightly. “But if a japanese girl with short black hair sits down at this table I swear to Circe I will get up and leave.” 

Harry grinned and looked back at Celine. “You’ve not got any red headed mates, have you?” 

Malfoy guffawed, loud and sudden, and Harry felt a strange moment of pride at the sound. There was no answer, only quizzical stares. 

“Wow, I can’t remember the last time the three of you were speechless,” said another bloke, taking a seat a moment later. 

Cosima scooted over to give him room. “Joshua showed up and they both got really weird, you’d be speechless too, trust me.” 

“And yet, you’re talking,” replied the boy. He eyed Harry and Malfoy. “So, why are we sitting with transfers?” 

This boy was short, but muscled, with tuffs of light brown hair that looked like he’d forgotten to brush it. Not that Harry had a leg to stand on. 

“Because we’re losers who need all the friends we can get?” Zab—  _ Joshua  _ suggested lightly. 

The other boy looked less than pleased about that answer. “You guys and Maria are already too much for me.” 

“Where  _ is  _ Maria?” Celine inquired, glancing around. 

Almost every other table had filled up, students catching up after a long break chatted animatedly everywhere Harry looked. A cluster of transfers filled one by themselves. Strength in numbers, he supposed. Why hadn’t he and Malfoy done that, he wondered. Instead they’d just wordlessly detached themselves from the others. To blend in, maybe? That was clearly going well. 

“And,” the unnamed boy stressed, ignoring Celine, “ _ you _ are not a loser. You are an athletic dreamboat.” 

Joshua smiled in a way that didn’t reach his eyes. “Whatever, Edgar.” 

Edgar bit his lip, looking a bit guilty for a moment before turning back to Cosima, opening his mouth to say something but being cut off by a short, tan girl sitting down next to him. “Miss me?” she asked the lot, eyes landing on Harry and Malfoy. “Who’re they?” 

“Our new friends,” replied Celine, not missing a beat.

“Oh, really?” the girl who was most likely Maria said, “what’re their names then?” 

It was obvious by the way she was smiling that she knew no one would actually have the answer. 

“Potter,” said Celine, pointing to Harry. “That one is something Potter, that’s all I got.” 

“Maybe he’s Harry Potter,” Maria joked. 

Harry’s blood ran cold, and Malfoy tensed beside him. “What do you lot know about Harry Potter?” the Slytherin asked carefully. 

Maria’s eyebrows furrowed. “Oh, uh, he’s that kid who killed that really bad wizard over in England or something like that. I think the Headmaster made some announcement about it last year…?” 

“So,” Harry ventured, “if I actually was Harry Potter, you wouldn’t, er, treat me like I’m famous or anything?” 

She smiled at him like he was daft. “No? We’d probably just say, like, thanks or something. But I don’t think it’d be a big deal. That evil wizard never hurt anyone over here, after all. Sad that that matters, yeah, but,” she trailed off with a shrug. 

“Well would you look at that Potter,” said Malfoy, “you get to be a real boy after all.” 

“Thank Merlin,” Harry said strongly, and then grinned at all of their confused expressions. “Erm, you’re welcome.” 

“No way,” said Maria. “You’re just screwing with us.” 

“Unfortunately,” said Malfoy, “this pillock is  _ actually  _ Harry Potter. And I’m Draco. Uh, Malfoy. Draco Malfoy.” 

Harry sniggered. “I should say something you would say now.” He raised his voice an octave, doing his most posh Malfoy impression. “Eloquent.” 

The whole table burst into laughter. Malfoy even cracked a smile. “I don’t sound like that,” he protested half-heartedly. 

The conversation was put on pause when the first years finally entered, and the man Harry assumed was the Headmaster arrived and took his seat up front in the centre of a long row of other adults, professor Clark among them. The Headmaster didn’t look nearly as ancient as Dumbledore, but he was getting up there. Still, he looked kind enough to Harry. He, along with the rest of the Hall settled, preparing to listen to a speech.  

“Welcome,” the man began, “welcome all to another year at Ilvermorny School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. I am Headmaster Fontaine, and I think I speak for everyone when I say we’re all very excited to see so many new and familiar faces. First, I’d like to take a moment to welcome our frankly unprecedented number of transfer students; it is wonderful that so many have chosen Ilvermorny this year.”

“We usually only get about five or six,” Cosima informed Harry in a whisper. 

“We hope that you come to think of our school as your own,” the older man continued. “Now, as most of you already know, I must warn that leaving school grounds at undesignated times, without direct permission from an adult on staff, is strictly prohibited. The no-maj population of our beloved mountain is not to be disregarded. Lastly, classes begin tomorrow at 8am sharp, so please remember to discuss your schedules with your partners and coordinate to the best of your ability. And  _ do not  _ be found alone tonight under any circumstances.” 

In the next moment, the older man’s serious demeanour slipped away and he smiled brightly, proclaiming that they were all free to enjoy the Feast. Platters and goblets filled to bursting appeared on every table. 

The smell of roast, honeyed ham and seasoned chicken was mouth watering, and no one wasted any time starting in. It all tasted as fantastic as it looked. 

“So, why leave Hogwarts?” Joshua asked after a mouthful or two. The rest of the group waited expectantly. 

Harry shrugged and drank his cider. “Needed a change.” 

No one looked satisfied. 

“So you just were talking and thought, let’s just fuck off to the U.S. together ‘cause we’re a little bored here?” Edgar said, looking extremely doubtful. 

Malfoy’s fork paused halfway to his mouth. “What makes you think we came here together?” he demanded. 

“You didn’t?” Cosima asked. 

“No,” Harry and Malfoy said at the same time. Malfoy gave him an annoyed look. 

“But you know each other,” Celine said, fork pointing between them.

They shared a look. “Yeah,” admitted Harry, “but that doesn’t mean we’re mates.” 

They all stared at them. 

“Sure, why not,” said Edgar, turning promptly to Celine, “I’d like to state for the record that I never wanted any more friends.” 

Maria punched his shoulder with a smile while Harry wondered idly what he and Malfoy had just somehow become a part of. 

‘&’

 

_ As Harry’s eyes became more accustomed to the brilliant glare he saw clocks gleaming from every surface, large and small, grandfather and carriage, hanging in spaces between the bookcases or standing on desks ranging the length of the room, so that a busy, relentless ticking filled the place like thousands of miniscule, marching footsteps. The source of the dancing, diamond-bright light was a towering crystal bell jar that stood at the far end of the room.  _

_ “This way,” Sirius whispered to the others.  _

_ Distantly, Harry knew this was a dream. Despite his fear of the memories, he knew that he was backed up well. The Death Eaters that were waiting to ambush them didn’t expect Harry to have successfully alerted anyone or to have shown up with experienced Aurors.  _

_ Harry obediently followed, the comforting steps of Remus, Tonks, and the rest echoing quietly at his sides.  _

_ “... Harry…”  _

_ Harry turned at the odd voice. He was certain it didn’t have a place in this memory. He quickly realised with a heart-stopping jolt that his companions had vanished.  _

_ He whipped around in alarm, watching in bewilderment as the dream wavered. All around him,  bookcases were fading, the thunderous ticking of innumerable clocks coming to an eerie halt, silence suddenly ringing in his ears.  _

_ The Hall of Mysteries was gone. He now stood in a room he was hardly used to, but recognised nonetheless: his dorm at Ilvermorny, right beside his own bed.  _

_ “... Harry…” _

_ He knew that voice, somehow, only he couldn’t recall where he’d ever heard it. It was light and throaty, but edged with something he didn’t like.  _

_ Harry was overwhelmed with the need to follow it, to find the person it belonged to. He had to help them. He started toward the door, quietly entering the Thunderbird common room.  _

“Potter?” 

_ The room was still cozy and inviting, like one might find in a faerie-like cottage, but no one occupied it. The plush, sky blue sofas were empty, no fire burning behind the small grate set in the lower wall. Harry moved on, exiting into the corridor. He felt as though there was something he was forgetting, almost like he shouldn’t be doing this.  _

_ “... Harry…” repeated the voice, quelling his worries. _

“Potter.” 

_ This time, Harry stopped.  _ That  _ voice had been strangely clear, coming from somewhere behind him. But it was secondary, not calling to him as strongly as the first. He dismissed it, made to continue walking.  _

_ “... Harry, come to me right now! ..” ordered that smokey voice, coated in desperation now. He would, he needed to— _

“Potter!” 

A hand had gripped his shoulder and spun him around, and Harry startled violently. He just barely managed not to trip over his feet with the sudden shock of slamming back into reality. Malfoy was standing in front of him, clad in his pyjamas. Harry looked around, mystified, at the hallway they stood in. How had he gotten out here? 

“What happened?” he croaked. 

“I should like to know,” Malfoy snapped. “You’re the one who up and walked out in the middle of the bloody night.” 

“I was… dreaming,” said Harry, blinking in disorientation.

“You know, I worked that out for myself after I called your name ten sodding times and you didn’t so much as flinch. Is this a thing with you, Potter? Because I swear to Merlin if your freakish sleep habits land me in detention, I will make you—”

“I don’t sleepwalk,” Harry interrupted. “I’ve never done.” 

Malfoy eyed him doubtfully, but then his shoulders sagged with exhaustion. He rubbed his eyes with the back of his pale hands. “Fine. Just go back to bed and try to stay there this time, yeah?” 

Harry just nodded, still flummoxed, and silently followed the blond back to the dorm. 


	2. Chapter 2

“Rough night?”

Malfoy looked up at Maria sourly, not deigning to answer before returning his attention to his toast. He’d not spoken more than two words to Harry all morning, evidently still irritated about last night. The blond looked like he’d not even gone back to sleep after Harry’d woken him, purple smudges beneath his eyes, and Harry had to push down his rising guilt. He’d never had a dream literally force him from bed before, and was more than a bit worried it would become a recurrence.

“It’s my fault,” he admitted to her.

She looked at him in surprise, something flashing in her eyes that he couldn’t identify. “Oh?”

“Apparently I sleepwalk now,” he explained.

“What about sleepwalking?” asked Celine, settling next to him.

“Potter is a menace,” responded Malfoy, and Harry grimaced.

“You know it wasn’t on purpose.”

Malfoy glared at him and went back to eating.

“What classes do you have today?” Celine inquired lightly, steering the conversation away.

Harry gave her a grateful look. “I’ve got Transfiguration first, with professor Siskin. History with Hanson, second. Then Magical Creatures with Clark right before lunch.”

“Professor Hanson is supposed to be great,” said Celine, “and Clark, of course.”

“Can’t tell you for sure about Siskin,” said Maria. “I have him too, but it’s the first time. Always had Professor Howe before, but I heard Siskin is good _if_ he likes you.”

“What about if professor Clark doesn’t like you?” he asked, unable to stop himself glancing at Malfoy again, who pointedly did not look up.

Maria and Celine looked taken aback. “Clark likes everyone,” said Maria.

Malfoy’s shoulders slumped. “Right,” he said, standing up. “I left my Charms book in the dorm.”

Harry looked morosely at his plate, still half full. He’d not even got to start on his eggs.

“I’ll go with you,” Celine said, flashing Harry an easy smile. “Harry can finish his food.”

Malfoy huffed but didn’t complain as she stood to follow him. Harry’s eyes trailed them as they walked away. Celine was only a few inches shorter than Malfoy, and with their matching robes and pale colouring, from the back, they could have been siblings.

“They really are very pretty, aren’t they?” said Maria.

Harry nodded unthinkingly. “Mhm.”

“Do you–” she started, but was interrupted by Cosima’s sudden appearance. “Did you hear?” she asked Maria. Harry’s back straightened; she looked absolutely dejected.

“Who?” said Maria.

“Little Cordelia Gray,” she answered sadly. “She was the one who got her pick of Houses yesterday, hadn’t happened in like forever. And a Nomaj-born, too.”

“Oh, Cos,” said Maria, “I’m so sorry.”

“Wait,” Harry cut in, “what’s happened to her?”

“She was taken,” explained Cosima. “She’s gone.”

“She’ll be back,” Maria said grimly.

Harry looked back and forth between them in bewilderment. “Why hasn’t there been an announcement? Or… a lock down of some sort until she’s found?”

“This happens every year, Harry,” Cosima told him. “There doesn’t need to be an announcement because most everyone already knows, and there’s not going to be a search because she won’t be found.”

Harry thought he might be ill, finally understanding the some of the underlying anxiety round campus he’d already begun to feel. If students were being kidnapped so often that no one was even bothering to search for them anymore, of course no one was allowed to roam about by themselves. The need for pairs made a horrifying kind of sense. He was nearly unwilling to ask the next question. “When you said she’d be back…” but he trailed off, unable to finish.

“Show him, Cos,” Maria said gently.

Cosima took a deep breath, looking quickly around to be sure no one was paying them any mind, and slipped her wand from her pocket. _“Lumos,”_ she said, but nothing happened. The wand produced no light.

Harry stared, speechless.

“Me and Celine,” Cosima began, resigned to tell her tale, “we were the first Taken. We were sorted, had our wands for half a day, maybe. And then… nothing. It’s all a blank.”

“You woke up and you couldn’t do magic anymore,” Harry said, giving voice to it as he couldn’t believe it otherwise.

“They woke up _four months later_ and couldn’t do magic anymore,” Maria informed him.

Cosima nodded. “Came to in the third floor corridor that Christmas day. Had no idea we’d been missing for so long.”

“In the meantime there were actual search parties,” said Maria, recalling it all. “By that October, everyone was pretty sure they were looking for a couple of bodies. When they showed up in the castle and seemed perfectly fine, the staff actually got mad, like they thought Cel and her just played them all or something. Wasn’t ‘til later that they realized…”

Cosima looked down at the wand in her hand, mournful. “I’m no-maj born,” she said quietly. “You’d think that would make it better, easier somehow. I mean, Cel’s pureblood. One of very few like _actual_ purebloods in America, it has to be worse for her. And me, I… well I only had it for a little while right? Shouldn’t be such a big deal, but…”

Harry wished he could help somehow, and was grateful that Maria took her hand, comforting. Cosima visibly reigned in her sorrow, and Harry felt a pang in his heart at the sight of it.

“Anyway,” she stated, a bit forceful, “once we figured out what had happened, we went straight to the staff, of course. They weren’t happy.”

Maria nodded. “Understatement. They tried to say that it must’ve been, like, a freak accident. Like they’d done it to themselves or something.”

Cosima scoffed bitterly at that. “They didn’t want to deal with us anymore, and it’s not like we could convince them of anything different because we’d been obliviated. We had no proof someone else was responsible.”

“Until the next year, when Anthony Jackson disappeared,” said Maria.

“Me and Cel were just a couple of little girls,” Cosima explained, “but Anthony was this educated sixth year. So when everything happened just the same, big search parties and super strict curfews and the whole damn works turned up nothing until he just stumbled right into the Great Hall on Christmas, suddenly a Squib just like us…”

Maria made a noise like a bomb going off, complete with hand gesture. “Mass panic. If you think it’s strict around here now, you got no idea. Shit was like a prison back then.”

“Everyone was paired off right away—me and Cel were a no brainer. I guess they thought it would make a difference if no one was ever on their own,” Cosima told him. “Didn’t matter. Emily Hernandez was next. Showed back up on Christmas, just like always.”

“The pair thing stuck, though, like it gave everyone some kinda comfort that the staff was at least doing _something,_ you know?” Maria didn’t sound particularly comforted, however. Harry could sympathise. In light of it all, pairs seemed rather perfunctory and passive.

Cosima looked so miserable, he almost kept the last thing to himself. Somehow, though, he forced it out. “But you still go to school here…?”

Cosima nodded, giving him a sad smile as if she’d realised what it cost him to ask. “Not all of us do, though,” she admitted. “They let the Taken stay and go to the specialized classes for the magically sensitive, hoping our magic will come back someday. But… some of us don’t bother. Last we heard, Anthony goes to no-maj law school now.”

Harry sat back, his food entirely forgotten as he digested the horror story he’d just been informed of. Eventually, Maria stood. “I have Siskin for first, too, come on. They say he really hates it when kids are late.”

‘&’

 

“Who pissed in your cheerios?” Joshua wondered from beside him a while later. They’d sat next to each other for History of Magic, and Harry, as per his track record, wasn’t retaining a word of the lecture. Except, this time, he couldn’t blame the professor. The man at the front of the room was not only very much alive, but enthusiastic. His voice was strong and clear. Harry’s mind just couldn’t be bothered to care. He wasn’t used to being a helpless bystander; he was used to being the one to take on the problem. But this wasn’t Hogwarts, and it wasn’t Voldemort behind it all.

He couldn’t see any way for him to help his new friends, and no one believed Cordelia would be found before it was too late for her as well.

“Huh?” he replied, remembering Joshua had said something to him.

“You look like someone ran over your kneazle,” was the response. “Are you even taking notes?”

Harry looked down at his page of half-formed doodles and back up. He sighed, unable to recall what he’d been taught in Transfiguration this morning, either. If he’d been taught anything at all, that was. “It’s nothing,” he said. “Just distracted.”

“Be distracted later,” Joshua replied. “You might get away with slacking on the first day, but Hanson doesn’t make this subject easy.”

Harry nodded, doing his best to pay attention after that and allowing the thought that he’d soon be let outdoors to serve as encouragement. Professor Clark had said to meet near the Founders Statues, where she’d then be leading them into some adjacent woods on the grounds for the lesson. Harry wasn’t sure what sort of creature to expect, but he was looking forward to being beyond the castle walls nonetheless.

Care of Magical Creatures was also the only class he shared with Malfoy this term, and he couldn’t say he minded much. When he arrived outside, the blond was stood next to two girls, chatting to them in french. There was something about the way the language sounded in Malfoy’s voice that Harry liked. He stopped beside the three of them, basking a bit in the light breeze and smell of mountain soil.

 _“Noelle, Jacqueline,”_ Malfoy said, first to the black haired girl and then to the blonde, _“voici…_ Potter.”  

Noelle looked Harry over and then smirked at Malfoy. _“Sait-il que vous n'arrêtez jamais de parler de lui?”_ she asked. Jacqueline grinned at her.

Harry furrowed his brows. If he had expected a translation from the Slytherin, he was disappointed. Malfoy simply rolled his eyes at both girls.

Harry didn’t have a chance to ask directly what she’d said before Clark arrived, a crate hovering above her head as she passed the crowd of students and they began to follow her towards the woods.

“Have you heard?” Harry whispered to Malfoy a few minutes later, while Clark introduced her magical guests—small creatures called Doxies, which Harry immediately distrusted due to their apparent relation to Pixies.

“What?” asked the blond, just before understanding surfaced. “Oh, about the missing girl. Yes I’ve been informed of the ‘curse _,_ ’ such as it is.”   
Malfoy’s lips then quirked up in a small, amused smirk.

  
“I don’t see what there is to be smiling about,” Harry said in undertone. “That girl was _kidnapped.”_

But Malfoy only nodded, flippant, his expression unchanged as he kept his eyes on the professor. “Unfortunate, that.”

  
“Unfortunate?” Harry repeated in disbelief. “She’s going to have her magic taken away somehow.”

  
This time Malfoy rolled his eyes at him. “Yes, a mudblood with no magic,” he said bluntly. “I’m almost certain there’s a word for that, must be escaping my mind.”

  
Harry stared. Red started creeping at the edge of his vision as he slowly took in Malfoy’s meaning. The blond didn’t actually know that the other Taken weren’t all muggleborns, he realised. Of course he’d be pleased. Merlin, how could Harry have forgotten who this boy was, even for a day? Anger flared hot in his chest.

“You’re foul,” he finally spit, unable to find sufficient words.

  
Malfoy scoffed at him, his jaw tightening at the insult. “I should think you’d be happy,” he replied. “It’s not a Basilisk, after all.”

  
“And this is meant to be _better?”_ Harry demanded, his hands in fists.

  
The blond looked at him, his eyes hardened. “Why wouldn’t it be? No bodies. Really, I almost admire the culprit,” sneered the Slytherin. “Going about setting the universe to rights without leaving such a mess behind.”

  
“Shut up, Malfoy, before I bloody make you,” warned Harry dangerously.

  
It was the wrong thing to say, apparently. Malfoy stepped in close, eyes flashing at the challenge in Harry’s tone. “I must say it’s a shame Granger doesn’t go to this school,” he taunted.

Harry’s fist moved blindingly quick. He was aware that he could have made this simple, could have pulled his wand and cast any number of awful hexes. But there was nothing so satisfying as the crunch of Malfoy’s nose as it gave to the pressure of Harry’s punch.   
They found themselves on the ground within seconds, Harry must’ve followed Malfoy down, now rolling and kicking and hitting everywhere that could be reached. Magical means had been entirely set aside in favour of baser instincts. This made sense, Harry thought even through his haze of dark anger. This was familiar territory, fighting with Malfoy instead of playing nice with him. The violence almost felt like being back home, Malfoy hollering obscenities and trying to throw Harry off where he had him pinned, throwing punch after punch.  It wasn’t all that long before they were roughly pried apart by an invisible force and held there, an absolutely livid Professor Clark pointing her wand at them.

Harry could taste blood in his mouth as he stared Malfoy down, satisfied to see red gushing from the other boy’s nose, bruises already forming on his pale face. Harry hardly noticed the ache around his own ribs, overwritten by adrenaline.

“—fist fighting like a couple of cavemen!” Clark was yelling in the background. “Can’t even say I’m surprised, the two of you have been trouble since minute one!”

Harry dropped Malfoy’s harsh gaze then, staring at his own feet so he wouldn’t have to look at the professor. The rest of the class was deathly silent as they watched the spectacle Harry and Malfoy made.

Clark took a deep breath, regaining her composure. “As your Head of House,” she began, her voice a warning all its own, “I am sending you both _directly_ to the Headmaster to be dealt with. I doubt I can do so objectively. I will be giving you a zero on this practical, however, in case there was any doubt about it. Now get out of my sight.”

They were escorted to the office by a pair of boys Harry didn’t know, and no one spoke the entire way there. The silence was broken only once by Malfoy’s mumbled _episkey._ Harry really couldn’t of helped his smug smile.

But his smile was soon dropped, replaced by trepidation once they’d arrived and were led inside.

Fontaine sat behind his desk, dismissing the other two boys politely before turning his eyes on Harry and Malfoy. Up close, the man didn’t look all that old. Possibly seventy or so, his hair a darker grey than Harry had thought. His eyes were nearly the same colour as his skin, a tan like honey.

“Gentlemen,” the man greeted kindly, as though Harry and Malfoy had come to introduce themselves instead of standing before him bleeding and mildly bruised.

The office itself was understated, the entrance to which hadn’t even been hidden. It led Harry to believe that there must be another room somewhere that the Headmaster actually used. This small place, though quaint and nicely furnished, was certainly not one to be occupied for hours on end.

Harry and Malfoy both nodded to Fontaine by way of hello, waiting to be chastised.

“Have a seat,” the man said instead. Both boys immediately did so, eyes wary. Dumbledore was very powerful, but Harry could admit he’d never been all that much of a disciplinarian. This Headmaster was a wild card, an unknown. It made it impossible to relax, even sitting.

“I understand there was a disagreement between the two of you?” he said, a small smile beginning on his face.

“Yes,” said Harry simply.

“And you attempted to solve it using force, clearly.”

Harry gave a somewhat reluctant nod, while Malfoy did nothing. His grey eyes were careful, assessing.

“Might I ask what your argument was about?” said the man.

Harry and Malfoy exchanged a sour look with each other. “We were only talking about the… missing student, Sir,” replied Malfoy before Harry could come up with a way to phrase _my partner is a blood prejudiced arsehole._

Harry suppressed his sardonic snort at Malfoy’s version of an explanation, knowing it would hardly help the situation. He couldn’t stop his eyes from rolling, though. Fontaine didn’t notice; he let out a long sigh and stood up, walking towards the window to his left and staring out of it. His back to the two boys, he spoke again.

“Cosima Taylor, Celine Moore, Anthony Jackson, Emily Hernandez, Tyler Brooks, Jeremy Johnson, and now young Miss Cordelia Gray,” he listed, voice full of an aching regret and responsibility. “I have failed them all.”

Malfoy looked at Harry then, comprehension dawning at having heard Cordelia’s name listed after Cosima’s and Celine’s. Harry recognised the sudden guilt, and he scowled at the blond in response. Of course Malfoy would only be apologetic now he knew it wasn’t just muggleborns being targeted. Now that he knew it was people who were supposed to have been his friends. His guilt meant less than nothing, in Harry’s book.

“Sir,” said Malfoy to the elder man’s back, “I don’t understand why nothing’s being done.”

Harry scoffed, almost involuntarily, and Malfoy glared at him. “What?” he demanded.

“Just think it’s a bit rich you’d start caring _now,”_ spit Harry. “Shouldn’t be surprised, you’ve never given a toss about anything that wasn’t about _you.”_

“You didn’t tell m–” started Malfoy.

“I shouldn’t have had to,” Harry cut him off, furious. “Everything you said was about Cosima just as much as Cordelia.”

Malfoy didn’t get a chance to say anything back before the Headmaster interrupted with a stern “Boys.”

He was facing them again, his eyes disappointed at their bickering. They both lapsed into silence again, sullen.

“We do and have done everything that we can, Mister Malfoy,” the man finally said. “Short of hiring enough staff to look after each student every hour of every day and night, there is no further preventive measures that we can take without turning our students into prisoners.”

“You could be hunting the person responsible,” Malfoy suggested.

“And you are certain that it would be a _person?”_ asked Fontaine. Then he sighed at their expressions. “The truth is we don’t understand how this happens, we wouldn’t know where to start. And, frankly, we don’t have the time. The investigation is open and being handled by professionals. There is nothing else to be done but wait and, in the interim, enforce our rules.”

“It’s not enough,” said Harry.

“No,” Fontaine agreed. “But it is all there is. I know it can be stressful, to be somewhere in which you feel unsafe, that those around you may be unsafe. I realize that this can often inspire aggression, especially given that you are both transfers.”

Harry and Malfoy exchanged a look, and Harry could tell they were thinking the same thing. How long had it been since the two of them were actually _safe?_ They hadn’t been fighting because of that, that was nothing new to either of them. But there was no way to express this, so they both simply nodded along with the words.

“That is why I’m inclined to be lenient with you,” Fontaine continued. “You will clean cauldrons for Professor Danes every night this week, and you will _not_ repeat this infraction or you will not enjoy the results. Understood?”

They both nodded and said “Yes, Headmaster.”

“Dismissed.”

The walk to the nurse was a silent one, both of them still tense and angry. Their injuries turned out not to be all that severe; they really hadn’t had much time to inflict damage earlier. They were eventually released in time for lunch.

As they walked toward the Dining Hall, Harry wished that Malfoy would leave him alone. That he _could_ leave him alone. But they were partners, and they couldn’t just allow the other to go off and be angry. At least, not by themselves.

Malfoy seemed to remember the last part about halfway through his meal. They were sat with at least three feet between them, Harry paying pointed attention to his food and trying not to react to the group’s watching them both with bewilderment, when the blond suddenly stood and stomped over to the table where Noelle and Jacqueline sat amongst a handful of other transfer students. Harry was immediately relieved.

“What the hell happened?” Maria demanded immediately.

Harry considered telling them all the truth, watching Cosima’s face crumple when he explained how Malfoy really felt about her and those like her, what he’d said. He imagined how they’d all react, the hate they’d start looking at Malfoy with in her defense. In the end, Harry pushed down his anger and shook his head.

“He’s an arse,” he replied, and left it at that.

‘&’

 

**_Harry,_ **

 

**_I was so glad to hear you’ve settled in so quickly. And your new friends sound lovely._ **

**_I have to ask, are classes any different in America? I’m actually taking almost as many classes as third year, since there won’t be any life or death scenarios monopolising my study time. :)_ **

**_A lot already feels so different without you here. I’ve hardly spoken to Ronald since we got off the train. He spends much of his time with Lavender Brown now, I think he might fancy her. Which is fine, of course. It’s hardly any of my business…_ **

**_I’ve been spending time with a few Ravenclaw girls, myself, they seem to like having me around. Or perhaps we just share a love for homework. In any case, I’ve been well._ **

**_The Slytherin’s are fine? It’s funny you should bring them up, because Malfoy isn’t here anymore, actually. But there’s so many rumours I couldn’t tell you where he is and his lot aren’t talking about it. They’re all rather subdued without him, believe it or no, though it might be a bit early to say so for sure. Why do you ask?_ **

**_You know I always want to hear from you. Don’t forget to write as much as you can, all right? And give Sirius my best._ **

 

**_Miss you,_ **

**_Hermione_ **

 

Harry sighed as he folded up the letter, bending down to put it with the others in his trunk. His gaze wandered to Malfoy’s bed curtains. They were shut, as they always were around this time. Kyle had fallen asleep on his Care of Magical Creatures book on the bed across from Harry; William was scrawling something in his spiral notebook four beds over, pencil moving rapidly while his brows furrowed in concentration. The sight of the yellow stick and white paper was still an oddity to Harry, but he’d had no shortage of people quick to assure him that they were far more sensible for use—the very idea of using parchment and quill had mystified his fellow students, leave alone the professors.

The lights in the dorm were still on, as it wasn’t late; Harry was certain that Malfoy was still awake.

_Why do you ask?_

It’d probably been a bad idea to ask Hermione how Malfoy’s friends had been. It was almost certain she’d put it together immediately. But Harry hadn’t been able to help it. If he was honest with himself, he’d been hoping she’d give him more details, the kind that Malfoy would want to hear. The Pukwudgies never delivered any post to the Slytherin, of course, since he’d likely had to leave his mates without explanation. News from home would’ve been a brilliant excuse to break the heavy silence between them.

It hadn’t yet gone two weeks since their fight, but Harry was already tired of pretending he wasn’t constantly itching to talk some sense into Malfoy. It had been much easier to simply hate the prat and be done with it when they’d been at Hogwarts, in different Houses and sharing a handful of hours a week together at best—or worst, at the time. But here, he was all Harry had of home.

It was all viciously unfair.

Suddenly fed up, Harry stood from his mattress and grabbed hold of Malfoy’s bed curtains, immediately tossing them aside unthinkingly. It wasn’t until after the fact that he realised that the blond might not of been decent, and firmly pushed the wandering thought from his mind in the same instant.

“Bloody—”

“I want to talk to you,” said Harry, not waiting for a response before he re-secured the curtains behind him and sat at the foot of Malfoy’s bed, legs crossed beneath him. A hawthorn wand lay pressed against the blond’s cotton joggers. He sat leaning against his forest green pillow that actually blended quite nicely with the teal sheets, an odd little notebook in his lap. His hair was still damp, making Harry think he must have come from the showers just before the Gryffindor returned to the dorm earlier. The white-blond locks curled slightly as they dried.

The Slytherin was staring at him, incredulous. “Funny,” he finally said, “I don’t want to talk to you.”

“I noticed,” replied Harry. “I just don’t care anymore.”

Grey eyes glared at him coldly.

“I’m tired of being upset with you,” Harry admitted.

Malfoy stared at him. “And what would you like me to do about that?”

The question was mocking, irritated, but Harry answered seriously anyway. “Apologise,” he suggested. “You’ve been a complete tosser. You tormented me and my friends for five years for laughs, spent practically all of last year rooting for Voldemort, even, and yet you somehow keep going on acting like you’ve not done anything wrong. I don’t want to fight with you anymore, Malfoy, but you make it so bloody difficult,” he said, relieved at having vented some of his frustrations.

Long moments crawled by before Malfoy calmly said, “You’re finished?”

Harry regarded him cautiously.

“Get out.”

The brunet sighed again, but set his shoulders. “No.”

“Potter.”

“Not until you answer me,” Harry said.

“I don’t know what you want me to say!” Malfoy exploded. “I’m not going to sit and tell you everything you’d like to hear. I’m certainly not going to _apologise_ to you. Salazar, but you’re infuriating! What did you think, hm, that you’d just whinge at me for a few minutes and I’d get down on my knees and profess how so very wrong I’ve been all my life and become a muggle-lover like you?”

It took every ounce of willpower that Harry possessed to keep himself in check. “No,” he said, immensely proud of how calm he sounded. “I want you to explain to me why.”   

“Why,” Malfoy repeated flatly.

“Why you hate muggles, why you think purebloods are so much better than everybody else. Why you thought Voldemort was some kind of saviour to wizard kind,” Harry ticked each one off on his fingers. “If you can convince me, I’ll leave you alone for good.”

Something unidentifiable flashed through Malfoy’s eyes at that, but it was gone in the next blink. Then he closed his notebook with a dull slap, tossing it beside him and straightening.  

“Fine,” he said. “You want me to tell you why I hate them? Because _they. hate. us._ And you know it’s true. They call us demons; every single time we’ve revealed ourselves, we get murdered in droves. Because muggles can’t be trusted. And mud– _muggleborns_ , while we’re at it, are a threat to us too, more so in some ways. Have you ever thought about how much faith we place in them? I know you grew up with muggles, Potter, did they love you?”

Wordlessly, Harry shook his head.

There was a brief flash of pity mingled with something else before the blond got back on track. “Well, I was going to ask ‘what if they hadn’t?’ but this actually works better. Why did they protect you, then, why not take you to some church and have you drowned?”

“They probably wanted to,” Harry admitted, deciding he might as well be honest. “But… they cared a lot about their reputations. It was easier for them to just keep me secret. And, well, my aunt wouldn’t have let me _die,_ I don’t think. Because of my mum, I mean.”

“So, love,” summarised Malfoy, blunt as ever.

Harry nodded again.

“And I imagine you, specifically, were at least somewhat looked after by Dumbledore. But that’s just it. Take Granger, for instance. What if her parents had been god-fearing preachers or some such nonsense, and she started presenting magic. What if they didn’t love her enough, didn’t love her more than they were afraid of her ‘devil’s gift.’ If our kind is lucky, they catch these people in time. If not, more muggles find out. Whoops, it’s made the town paper. This day and age? Soon news stations are talking. You can only obliviate so many people before it’s a lost cause, after all. Have you ever thought about how few wizards there are in comparison to them? Let me give you an idea. The pamphlet says that about twenty-five hundred students come here annually, right?”

Harry hadn’t read the pamphlet, but there was no point in doing anything but nodding again.

“So. Twenty-five hundred children. Roughly five thousand parents. Add in some single adults, maybe another couple thousand just to be sure we count everyone. We’re somewhere close to ten thousand wizards in North America. Are you with me?”

Harry suddenly recalled that Malfoy’d had Muggle Studies on his schedule at the start of term, remembered wondering why. “Yes.”

“Do you know how many muggles live in North America right now, Potter?”

“No.”

“Almost three hundred _million.”_

Harry’s eyes widened of their own volition, and Malfoy looked triumphant. “We hardly exist in comparison to them. If we are discovered again, and it’s not caught in time, do you realise how fast we could die off? All it takes is a few failures in quick succession, and it’s the end times. We can’t _trust them with our lives._ It’s simple fact.”

“So… you hate muggles and muggleborns because you’re afraid of them.”

Malfoy wrinkled his nose. “I hate them because they don’t deserve our fear. Because we may as well be gods in comparison to them, but we cower like sewer rats so as not to risk extinction. I hate them because they have no right, but they outnumber us so vastly we’ve no other choice.”

“What makes us gods?” asked Harry, honing in on his opportunity.

“What?”

“You said we’re gods compared to them,” Harry said. “Why? Why are we so much more deserving of life than them?”

“Because we have magic, Potter,” the blond said, as though Harry were being particularly thick.

“So do muggleborns,” pointed out Harry.

Malfoy set his jaw, saying nothing.

“So is it magic that makes us gods?” Harry prodded. “Or is it blood that makes _you_ a god?”

The Slytherin stared at him for a long moment before he finally spoke. “Me, I suppose.” The words were quiet and uncertain, enough that it made Harry’s heart beat faster.

“So you’re a better wizard than me,” he checked. “Because my mum was a muggleborn. Your magic is better, godlier.”

This time there was no response, verbal or otherwise. Cautious grey eyes watched him.

Finally, Harry said, “Because, if so, that means you must think you were a better wizard than Voldemort.”

“What.” The word attempted to be flat, but cracked on the edge.

“Voldemort didn’t hate muggles or muggleborns because he resented them for being a threat, Malfoy,” said Harry. “He hated muggles because his dad was one. Not a muggleborn. A muggle. Tom Riddle Sr was _no one._ And Voldemort hated him for it.”

Harry watched Malfoy’s face as he spoke, and decided that enduring that awful conversation with Dumbledore this passed summer had been worth it just for this. He knew things about Tom Riddle that he’d never wanted to know, never asked to know. But Dumbledore had sat him down, his usually sparkling eyes sombre as he explained in grave detail how Voldemort had become who he’d been and why, and what Harry had had to do with it.

Harry had known that there were even some things the old man had held back, and he hadn’t minded. Now, as he spoke to the boy before him, he wondered if he should have demanded the truth in its entirety, if it’d meant he could have said more right now.

“And your dad knew that, by the way,” continued the Gryffindor, determined to have it all out on the table. “He knew that and he followed him anyway. Worshipped him. Threw his entire life and you, his family, away for him, didn’t he. Someone who, based on what you were just saying, was less than him. But he wasn’t, was he? Because magic doesn’t favour based on blood. Your magic isn’t stronger than mine because you’re a pureblood and I’m not, is it? You say we’re gods because we have magic, but then you pretend like it’s up to you or anyone else to decide who deserves their magic and who doesn’t.”

The blond’s face was paler than Harry had ever seen.

“Your entire argument is mucked up from the start even,” he barrelled on, “because purebloods are a part of the reason there are so few of us in the first place. Maybe muggles wouldn’t outnumber us by so much if half of us weren’t so set on keeping magic for themselves that they saw no issue with practices like inbreeding. And don’t bother denying it; I know you’ve not forgotten who my godfather is. So which is it, Malfoy?” he asked. “You hate muggles because they outnumber us, in which case you might think about not being so openly proud of your bloodline, to say the least. Re-evaluate some of those philosophies, I’d think. Or you hate them because they haven’t got any magic, meaning you hating muggleborns is nonsense. _Or,_ you just hate everyone who isn’t pureblood and want to see us all dead, and in that case you might want to write a letter to your dad and ask him to explain why he’s to spend his life in Azkaban for willingly obeying a lesser being.”

When Harry stopped, the resulting silence stretched so long that Harry found himself holding his breath to keep it from shattering. His mind was racing, ardently picking apart every statement he’d just made. He recognised that he’d actually taken a fair few of his words from Sirius. His godfather rarely spoke of his family life growing up, but, whenever he started in, it was obvious their prejudices were still a sore spot. Harry hadn’t realised until now how much he’d actually retained from the older man’s ranting.

Harry also came to the conclusion that, if Hermione had heard his argument, she would of been proud of him as well.

All the while, Malfoy looked blank, as though, for him, time had simply stopped. Like he couldn’t quite manage to form thoughts, let alone words.

When he finally did speak, it was one word. “Go.”

That time, Harry obeyed.

He sat on his own bed, staring at Malfoy’s closed curtains again and wondering desperately if he’d really just done the right thing. If it was going to have any effect at all.

Across the way, Kyle’s drool collected into a puddle on his textbook.

 

‘&’

 

“—and dad told me she’s been trying to pass a new law that allows certain healers to discriminate against no-majborns. Like if they’re pureblood and they don’t want to heal someone, they won’t have to,” Celine said, dejectedly pushing around bits of pancake with her fork.  

“Your mom’s a cold hearted bitch, Cel,” said Maria. “You’ve known that for years.”

“But now she’s actually trying to endanger people!” Celine protested. “I just never thought it’d get this bad.”

Everything Harry had heard about Congresswoman Vivianne Moore had turned his stomach in one way or the other, and he couldn’t say the newest development was much of a shock. According to Celine, her mum frequently referred to her as her greatest shame.

“You’re a pureblood without any magic,” Celine had mimicked once several days ago, voice pitched in an obnoxious mockery, “a disgrace! You’re not welcome in any home of mine!”

The older Moore sounded worse than Umbridge, which was possibly the worst insult that could be bestowed on anyone. What sort of a mother has record of her daughter’s existence sealed to save face?

“Look at it this way,” Edgar said easily, “most people aren’t pieces of shit, especially not Healers. Believe me, if you study for that long to be able to help people, you don’t care who they are. Unless you’re fucked in the head. All’s I’m saying is that even if this law gets passed, which it won’t, than the chance anyone actually uses it is crazy unlikely. Like, not gonna happen.”

Celine pursed her lips a moment, and then forced a small smile for him. “Thanks, Ed.”

“You want to be a Healer?” Harry asked him.

Edgar bit his lip. “Oh, uh, no, not really. I was only saying that because my big sister is one. She’s–”

He cut off abruptly, the whole table going completely silent when Malfoy appeared and sat down right beside Harry.

Malfoy hadn’t sat with them of late, opting to avoid Harry whenever he could get away with it, which was as often as possible. Harry knew that their friends were incredibly curious on top of their irritation, but he still hadn’t been able to bring himself to fully explain.

The Gryffindor only just suppressed a gasp of surprise, staring wide eyed at the blond.

The Slytherin hadn’t so much as glanced Harry’s direction all weekend, which meant there’d been no change. He’d had nothing to go on, no indication anything he’d said had gotten through. Until now, that was. The very possibility was startling.

“Er, Hi,” said Harry, careful not to sound too hopeful.  

Malfoy held his gaze for a prolonged moment before finally taking a deep breath. “Look, Potter, I need–” he stopped, cleared his throat. “I’ll need you to give me a bit of… time.”

Later, Harry would wonder what possessed him to do it, would try in vain to find some way to explain the way he must have taken complete leave of his senses. Because, for some unnamable reason, he’d actually, willingly reached out and wrapped his arms around Draco Malfoy.

The hug was so incredibly awkward that Harry nearly pulled away immediately. Except that in the same moment, pale forearms came to cautiously rest against Harry’s sides, hands momentarily locking behind his back.

The moment broke when five sets of hands started clapping. The two boys untangled themselves instantly; Harry could feel the tips of his ears burning.

Joshua sniffed dramatically, completely dry eyed. “That was beautiful, you guys,” he proclaimed obnoxiously.

Maria promptly punched him in the side. “Shut up,” she hissed at him.

“What took so long is what I wanna know,” said Cosima.

There was a silence before Malfoy asked, “They really have no idea, do they?”

Harry couldn’t hold back his grin, thinking of the last five years. “Not at all.”

“Friends again for two minutes and already excluding the rest of us from your conversations,” Celine lamented, a hand coming up to rest on her forehead like someone swooning.

 _Friends,_ thought Harry. With time, at least. Malfoy shot him a small, cautious smile.

It felt like a confirmation.

 

‘&’

 

“What’s happened?” Harry wondered aloud to Joshua as they entered History of Magic. He’d been noticing since leaving breakfast how particularly cheerful everyone seemed to be. Siskin had laid into several people for having private conversations during first. As Harry took his seat, students murmured enthusiastically to each other all around him while awaiting professor Hanson’s arrival.

“Tryouts start today.”

“Quidditch?” asked Harry, heart quickening despite himself. He hadn’t been certain that they even played Quidditch here, and was exhilarated at the thought of flying again.

“Sure,” replied Joshua. “But I think those aren’t until closer to the end of the week, though. Most wait to try out for Quidditch, usually after they find out they didn’t make their Quodpot team. And then there’s Swivenhodge tryouts on Saturday, for the losers who don’t make either. But those games aren’t much to watch.”

“What’s Quodpot?” Harry inquired, and Joshua stilled, gaping at Harry in a manner so unlike him that Harry almost sniggered.

He shook it off quickly, though. “Sometimes I forget how foreign you are,” he sighed. “Quodpot is only the greatest sport in the world.”

This time Harry did laugh. “You play, I take it?”

“Of course I do,” Joshua said immediately. “You’re looking at the reason Thunderbird holds the Quodpot championship four years running, and you bet your ass I’ll make it a fifth.”

“I’m sure the other players had nothing to do with it,” Harry said, mock solemn.

Joshua glared at him. “You think I’m bad? That bastard Stevenson would take all the credit, and does. Thinks he’s a gift to mankind.”

“Averie is a bloke?” Harry said, recognising the surname from girls gossiping in the common room.

“No, Averie is douche’s little sister,” Joshua corrected. “But it doesn’t matter what Matt does anyway, I’m too good, so I’m not going anywhere.”

“Right,” Harry said. “But people still watch Quidditch, yeah?”

Joshua nodded. “Oh yeah. Muggles still watch soccer don’t they?”

Harry’s confusion must have showed on his face because Joshua sighed grievously. “Yes, Harry, people watch Quidditch matches. If you want to play so badly, which you obviously do, you can. Happy?”

Harry beamed.

“Having a good day Mr. Potter?” professor Hanson asked him as he entered the classroom just then. Several people giggled, but Harry just nodded.

“Glad to hear it,” the man said, setting his things on his desk and turning to the rest of the class with a smile of his own. “Good morning students. I figured we could use a more laid back day, today, so I’m sure everyone can guess what we’re talking about?”

“Quodpot!” called several people, while others whooped happily.

The majority, if not every student in the room besides Harry himself, likely already knew everything that Hanson said. If there was ever a day for messing around, this was it. But no one did, completely immersed in the ‘lesson,’ which was really just sports discussion disguised as work. Not that Harry was complaining. He was actually fascinated, learning about how a faulty Quaffle could have given birth to an entire game all its own. The rules seemed fairly straightforward, all essentially boiling down to: score a point and don’t let anything explode in your face. He came out thinking that he might actually have fancied playing, if his heart didn’t already belong to Quidditch.

Malfoy seemed to agree, judging by the gleam in his eye when Harry met up with the group for lunch.

“So,” said the blond with false nonchalance, “Thursday, it seems.”

“May the best Seeker win?” Harry asked, tone equally light.

The Slytherin scoffed. “Please, like I’m going to set myself up to lose to you again. No, I’m going for Chaser, so you had better be on your game, Potter. I’d quite like to start winning matches.”

Harry grinned widely at him, but the blond just swallowed funny and looked away.

Later that day, Harry quickly came to understand why there were three separate days allotted for Quodpot tryouts.

He and Malfoy sat beside each other as the stands filled up. Half the school must’ve showed just to watch, the chatter deafening while more and more people filled the field. Harry could just make out Joshua, his dark silhouette in direct contrast to the slightly shorter, lightly tanned brunet next to him. Even from where Harry sat, it was clear they were already arguing.

“That’s Matthew,” said Maria as she slid in to his right, confirming Harry’s suspicions. “They’re always going at it because once upon a time Matt wanted to fuck and Josh didn’t.”

Harry’s neck snapped towards her so quickly he nearly gave himself whiplash; beside him, Malfoy choked violently on his onion ring.

Maria rolled her eyes with a tsk. “Never would have taken you two for prudes,” she said.

“How do you even _know_ that?” Malfoy demanded, ignoring her last comment completely.

She gave him an unimpressed look. “Because he told me, duh.”

“Joshua sounded like he hated him, though,” said Harry, weakly.

“Oh he does,” Maria confirmed. “But that’s just because his feelings got hurt.”

 _“His_ feelings?” asked Malfoy. “I thought he was the one who didn’t… er, fancy the other bloke.”

Maria grimaced. “Uh, it’s more complicated than that. They both like each other still, don’t let them fool you. But Josh doesn’t… do sex. Like, he’s just not into it? He’d explain it better than I can, he’s very clear and open about it, so I’m not telling you anything he won’t tell you himself. Except it’s a sore spot ‘cause he gets sort of shunned for it. So when Matt actually came onto him, well, the idiot convinced himself it was about the challenge or something, and you can see how that went.”

Harry glanced down to see the two boys in question in each other’s faces now, animosity written on every feature. An image of himself and Malfoy arguing flashed through Harry’s mind, and he felt a ridiculous flush begin crawling up the back of his neck, paranoid everyone knew where his subconscious had travelled off to.

He didn’t dare risk a glance at the Slytherin, instead focusing on _getting a grip._ There were no similarities here, he told himself as he fiercely pushed the image from his thoughts and locked it away.

“How do they even narrow down this many people?” Harry asked, deliberately changing the subject as they waited for things to really get started.

“The first day is mostly just about knocking off people who are just trying out for shits and giggles, kids that are too young to play but show up anyway, the ones who are just here for the cred of getting to say ‘I tried out,’ posers basically. The real magic doesn’t happen until tomorrow, that’s when things get interesting. And then Wednesday is a bloodbath, you’ll _definitely_ wanna be here for that.”

The way she said the word ‘bloodbath’ with such relish made Harry smile. “Why aren’t you trying out?” he questioned. She seemed like just the person for it, to him.

She smirked a bit and then pointed. “You see that girl down there to the left of Matt? Dark red hair? Purple uniform?”

Harry nodded, catching sight of the girl easily, her hair a curtain of red against the lavender.

“That’s Abby Rollins, Horned Serpent Quodpot captain,” she said, “and soon, she’s gonna be mine.”

Harry and Malfoy stared at her, shocked speechless again. “You mean…?” Harry tried.

“You guys gotta stop looking at me like that,” she admonished. “I might start thinking you’re homophobes or something… well okay, no I wouldn’t,” she amended, laughing for a reason Harry didn’t understand. “But yeah, I’m a lesbian, and proud of it too.”

“What’s that got to do with anything, though?” Malfoy asked, sounding a bit strangled.

She rolled her eyes. “I can’t exactly be competing with her all the time. Talk about a lose-lose situation.”

“Definitely not worth it,” agreed Cosima, joining the conversation without missing a beat as she slid through to sit on the other side of Malfoy. “Damn, even more of a turn out than last year.”

Maria nodded. “Totally.”

It turned out that Joshua really was quite good at Quodpot. He and Matt were the last survivors of the initial match, playing with forty-four, double than what was normal—though being co-captains, neither of their spots were actually at risk. They were apparently meant to be supervising, but getting carried away. “Like always,” Cosima informed them.

Things continued on much the way Maria said they would. Someone seemed to exit the field no less than every five minutes. Thankfully, for first tryouts, nothing actually exploded. Harry might’ve gone deaf if there had been. Of the original roughly two hundred plus players that had come to try out, only about fifteen or so from each House were left. He could only imagine how intense things were going to become the following day, and certainly understood why Maria was so anxious for Wednesday.

“I think I’m actually glad to know Quidditch is less popular here,” Malfoy told him when the whistle signaled the end of that session.

They’d barely entered the school again when a familiar voice stopped them on their way to the Thunderbird wing.

 _“Draco!”_ exclaimed Noelle, _“tu es là, quand as-tu voulu aller à_ — _…”_ She broke off, seeming to register for the first time that Draco wasn’t by himself. Jacqueline tapped her foot impatiently behind her.

 _“Désolé,”_ said Noelle, giving Harry a soured once over, “ _vous êtes apparemment occupé.”_

With that, both girls turned and walked away.

“What did she say?” Harry asked. “Did I do something to her?”

Malfoy snorted. “She just didn’t know where I was, wanted to meet up like we usually do. Then she decided that I was busy, because she doesn’t like you.”

“Why not?”

Malfoy gave him a look that said ‘why do you think,’ and Harry rolled his eyes. “Of course,” he scoffed. “So what do you normally do? I probably would have stayed with Cosima.”

“Library,” answered Malfoy. “That’s where I usually am around now.”

“Studying?”

“Something like that,” replied the blond, sounding oddly hesitant. “Though usually I just help them practice their english.”

“Oh,” Harry said, resuming their walk towards Thunderbird. “That’s… nice of you.”

“A compliment?” Malfoy gasped in mock surprise. “I’m touched.”

“You hardly need it,” Harry retorted. “Your head’s inflated enough as is.”

“Oh is it?”

Something in his tone gave Harry pause, and he side eyed him. “Well it used to be, at least.”

Malfoy didn’t reply.

 

‘&’

  


Wednesday had, in fact, been a blood bath. ‘The Culling,’ as Maria had gleefully dubbed it, had required nearly four hours to cut less than ten down to small digits, depending on how many slots were even in need of filling. And the final rejects had not gone quietly.

It had all been quite exciting, but nothing compared to the feeling of waking up thursday morning to the promise that Harry could fly today.

Malfoy was so upbeat at breakfast, Harry jokingly checked him for fever.

“Excited?” Celine asked, barely restraining her smile as she observed the two of them enthusiastically scarf down their waffles.

“You’ve no idea,” Malfoy admitted. Harry echoed him.

When classes finally released for the day, Harry and Malfoy practically raced each other to the pitch. Joshua, Cosima, Maria, and Celine were all there to support them, even though these tryouts had far less fanfare.

“We tried to convince him,” Celine was saying, “but Edgar has a policy against outdoor activities.”

“I know,” Malfoy replied easily, pretending like he wasn’t gripping his broom like a lifeline. “I see him in the library a lot.”

“Nerds,” said Maria playfully.

Not even a hundred kids showed up to try for Quidditch, and the stands were more empty than not. Still, Harry was thrilled. After all, Malfoy was right when he’d said less kids meant more chance of making the team. Not that Harry had any doubts.

When they were at last given permission to fly, Harry nearly laughed out loud with the force of his exhilaration. Godric, but he’d missed this.

Apparently the last Thunderbird Seeker had graduated this year, and so the position for it was open, instead of trying out to be a substitute of sorts. Harry thought that it was fate, because there was one Chaser’s spot open as well—the one who’d held it formerly being a girl who’d, according to Cosima, sustained an optical injury that hadn’t been completely healed in time.

Harry and Malfoy were far better than any of the newcomers on the pitch, including the other Houses. When the supervisors first released the snitch, Harry caught it within three and a half minutes, and Malfoy actually cheered him. The blond was truly far better with a quaffle than he’d ever been with a snitch. Harry even found himself wondering if Gryffindor would have won less matches, had Malfoy been playing the right position.

Just being up in the sky was breathtaking, and Harry basked in the glory of it as he watched the Slytherin score again and again. It was warm and mildly humid out, the fast air whipping against his face a cool relief, negating the sweat gathering on his forehead. By the time they landed, Harry was exhausted in the best of ways.

Malfoy was jovial as they left the pitch with the direction that they’d both better show tomorrow ‘or else.’

“All right I’ll give it to you two,” Joshua said when the group caught up with them, “you’re pretty good.”

“Good?” Cosima asked. “They were amazing! Holy shit, Draco, you scored like ten times in a row!”

Malfoy’s cheeks were bright red with adrenaline and pride as he ducked his head to hide a grin.

 _He’s cute like this,_ Harry thought, unbidden, and then nearly stumbled over his own feet because he had no idea where that’d come from. Draco Malfoy certainly was not _cute._

“You okay Harry?” asked Maria, who was looking at him far too knowingly for comfort.

He nodded quickly. “Yeah, m’fine. Just, that was fun, is all.”

“Hm,” she said, slotting her arm through his own as they all walked back.


	3. Chapter 3

**_Harry,_ **

 

**_I’ve still not gotten used to your not being here. Playing Quidditch without you on the team is bloody weird, and we’ve not even started practices yet—officially, that is. But you must know that. I told everyone that you’d made the team in America, and they all said to tell you congratulations. I also told ‘em about that other game you were talking about, Quodpot? Everyone had a good laugh with the way you described it, even though it does sound sort of neat. Reckon I’m too loyal to Quidditch. It’s a bit intimidating to think how many people you go to school with. When I told Zach that so many people showed to make a team, he almost fainted dead away. I reckon I’d go mad with that many people about._ **

**_You know what’s odd? I feel like there’s more people here this year, even. Or it might be it’s only louder here now everyone isn’t so scared, least that’s what Gin says. She’s been good, by the way. Wishes you’d write, say hello. She’s dating Dean now, which I’m forced to pretend I’ve no problem with, my girlfriend will jump down my throat about it otherwise._ **

**_Lav’s all right, though. I mean, she’s a good person to have round, you know.  And she really fancies me, a lot. It’s nice, I suppose. But it is a bit weird with ‘Mione ever since. I dunno why. Does she ever say anything about me when she writes you?  We haven’t talked much, she’s studying away like always and I’m busy too, mind you._ **

**_Anyway, I won’t question you but I’ve no idea why you give a toss what the Slytherins have been up to. For starters, Malfoy’s gone. Dunno if ‘Mione’s already told you that or not, but the tosser just disappeared. Not too fussed about where he’s off to, good riddance really. The rest of them are more tolerable without him. And I know what you’re thinking, but I’m not taking the piss. Crabbe and Goyle have taken to flanking Zabini, like they thought ‘who do we bodyguard now?’ and just latched onto him. He’s the new Prince, but he’s actually not much of a git. He’s ‘Mione’s potions partner and he’s strangely polite from what I see. My potions partner this year is Parkinson. I can already hear you laughing. But believe it or no, she’s not that bad. The only thing is that she misses Malfoy, even I noticed it. Actually feel a bit bad for her ‘cause it seems like she might’ve been in love with the prat or something._ **

**_I’ll leave off here. We miss you, mate._ **

**_Ron_ **

Harry gave a little sigh, homesickness suddenly coming on so strong he had trouble breathing for a moment. It was difficult to believe it was nearing two months since he’d landed in the states, it seemed like so much longer.  

At the same time, he silently thanked Merlin that he had a best mate like Ron Weasley, giving Harry exactly what he’d needed without question. 

He was glad it was a Sunday night, the dormitory still mostly empty, not wanting anyone to see him overcome.  

Malfoy entered a few minutes later, hair wet from the shower he’d just left and donning silk green pyjamas that made Harry snort each time they made an appearance.

“You’re simply jealous of how comfortable these are,” Malfoy defended easily as he crawled onto his bed. He never shut his curtains on Harry anymore, save to actually sleep. They spent a lot of voluntary time together now they were friends instead of just a mandatory school pair, and Harry hadn’t been as surprised as he should have been to find that Malfoy was actually pleasant company. Now he wasn’t an arse, his sarcasm was actually rather charming. He was witty and entertaining, making Harry smile or laugh whenever he least expected to. 

The blond had made himself at home to the whole of campus, his charisma still as natural a magnet as it’d apparently been in Slytherin House. Celine and Malfoy specifically had seemed to have grown rather close, and the french transfers still liked to lean on Malfoy both to comfort and tutor them—the latter evidenced by the copious amounts of time the Slytherin spent in the library, not that Harry ever joined him there to check.

For all that the Slytherin seemed settled in his new life, however, Harry would still catch him with a certain look, as though he was unbearably lonely even in the midst of several people. It wasn’t obvious to anyone but Harry, it seemed. 

When they were just the two of them, Malfoy talked about his mother often, his voice becoming adoring and grieved at once whenever he did so. Narcissa Malfoy sounded nothing like Harry had expected. He’d have thought that Malfoy’s mother would have been something of a background figure, subservient to her husband and content to placidly go along with his wishes. This was, according to Malfoy, the farthest from the truth one could get. She was apparently quite opinionated and vocal, and had had Lucius practically ‘wrapped around her pinkie finger.’ In the days before Voldemort’s resurrection at least. Harry and Malfoy didn’t dwell on that topic much, for obvious reasons, except when Malfoy spoke of the consequences. Some of it Harry had already guessed at, like how the Wizengamot had placed so many sanctions on Narcissa’s magic following Lucius’s sentence—guilty by association to her husband as she was—that it would have been near impossible to protect herself from Bellatrix or anyone else if they had stayed in London. If Andromeda hadn’t seen fit to warn them, they might not have survived long enough to move away at all. 

Malfoy hated the rigid separation, though he was entirely certain it was necessary, and Harry had found that he hated Malfoy in such emotional pain. He knew there was nothing for it, Malfoy’s mother and friends were far from Harry’s reach. Still, he hadn’t managed to resist trying to do what little he was able.  

“So,” Harry started carefully, “I’ve something you might want to read.” 

Malfoy’s brows furrowed, cautious eyes on the letter held in the Gryffindor’s hands. 

“It’s from Ron,” Harry explained. “And no one knows you’re here but… trust me, yeah?” 

The blond pursed his lips but obediently accepted the letter, eyes poring over it for long moments before looking quietly back up at Harry. “You asked about my friends,” he said. 

Harry nodded. “Thought you might like to know how they were doing, since I know you can’t exactly write them yourself.” 

Malfoy stared at him. 

“And,” Harry added, voice quickening with sudden nervousness, “I, er, I’m sorry that it wasn’t very good things but I figured you’d want to hear it anyway because at least it’s something. Because it must be awful not to be able to speak to anyone you knew—”

“Potter,” said Malfoy. 

Harry bit his lip. “Yeah?” 

“Thank you.” 

“Oh, I was glad to,” Harry replied, relieved.

“You can’t do it again,” Malfoy told him. 

“What?” asked Harry, unable to mask his surprise. 

“I’m only going to admit this once,” said the blond, “but your friends aren’t imbeciles. If you keep asking after Slytherins, Granger at the very least will put it together, if she hasn’t already.” 

“Oh, right, that.” 

“I’m glad you did it and it… means a lot,” Malfoy assured him. “But I can’t risk it.” 

“I understand. And sorry about, er, Parkinson,” Harry added awkwardly. 

The Slytherin’s lips twitched. “Panse and I aren’t in love, Potter.” 

“Oh. I just thought… I dunno.” 

It was hard to tell with Malfoy. For all he was open to discussing certain things, others he’d almost never mention. Harry had been a bit nervous about sharing the letter in part because Malfoy rarely went into depth about his friends back home. There was no way to be sure if it was that he simply wasn’t as attached to them, or if speaking about them made the loneliness worse. Harry understood the latter possibility especially well.

“You know I used to think the same of you and Granger,” remarked Malfoy in reply. He barked a laugh at Harry’s expression. “See, exactly. Pansy is… my favourite person. My best friend. But it’s never been like that.” 

“Did you ever wonder about it, though?” Harry found himself asking. 

“Did you ever wonder about Granger?” 

“Of course,” said Harry. “Hermione’s the world to me. I’d always thought it would be so easy, if I could  _ just,  _ you know.” 

The blond nodded, gaze seeming to travel inward as he thought of Parkinson. “I know what you mean. Circe, I miss her.” 

“You reckon she might be angry with you?” 

Malfoy shook his head. “I couldn’t leave Panse without saying goodbye. She doesn’t know where I am, but she knows why I had to go.” 

“That’s good at least,” said Harry. 

It was quiet for a moment before Harry asked, “Is she… I mean, Bellatrix, is she after  _ you?  _ Or is it just your mum?” 

Harry had never been willing to ask that particular question before, though he’d wondered about it. Worried, more like. 

Malfoy fiddled with a loose thread on his blanket. “Aunt Bella doesn’t care about me at the moment. To her I’m just my dad’s useless runt, but she’d use me to get to my mum if she could. Or if she’d already ki—” the blond choked off. He swallowed hard. “After, she might decide to come for me.” 

“That won’t happen,” Harry promised fiercely, hating the agonised expression Malfoy wore. “None of it.” 

Malfoy’s eyes widened at Harry’s tone. “All right,” he said quietly. 

 

‘&’ 

 

_ Bellatrix Lestrange was screaming, high pitched wails like someone was cutting her apart. Lucius Malfoy’s arms were wrapped around her, keeping her from the veil Voldemort had fallen through.  _

_ The Order members around Harry were silent, some staring at him in open disbelief and amazement. Others were shocked into stillness, wands fallen limp at their sides once their former opponents had stopped fighting.  _

_ He’d not meant to do it.  _

_ It was, quite frankly, the single luckiest moment of his existence. He’d simply sent out a stunning spell blind, hoping to hit a Death Eater; by all rights it could have had dire consequences for his own companions. Harry hadn’t had a clue where the dark wizard had been standing, or even what the hissing veil actually was.  _

_ It was luck, ridiculous, impossible luck. And just like that, the man who’d murdered his parents and ruined so many lives was gone.  _

_ Bellatrix Lestrange was still screeching, manic tears running down her face while she howled for her master. Writhing, begging him to return and slaughter them all. But no one re-emerged from the veil. The whispers were simply louder, delighted.  _

_ Harry bent over and vomited.  _

 

Harry gasped, bolting upright in his bed. The dormitory was dark, silent but for Reed’s light snoring. Once his heart rate slowed enough, he retrieved his wand from the nightstand and cast a  _ tempus.  _ It was nearing five in the morning. 

Unable to remain in bed after reliving that particular memory, he quietly stood and padded towards the bathroom, deciding that an early shower would have to do to calm him. 

Harry stayed in the shower for an excessive amount of time, only vacating the stall when his fingers and toes were pruned and the water had begun to inch toward freezing. Harry hadn’t planned it, but given that the Dining Hall would open for breakfast soon, he figured he might as well get dressed and set for the day. He wrapped his towel around his waist, balling his pyjamas up in his hand and re-entering the dormitory as quietly as possible so as not to wake anyone. 

That plan was abruptly derailed when he turned from the door only to promptly collide with another body, and—in a moment of thoughtlessness—held onto his dirty clothes instead of securing his towel; there was, therefore, nothing to prevent it slipping with his sudden stumble. 

He breathed in sharply at the feeling of cold air against his arse, and scrambled to be sure the bundle of clothes still in his hand shielded his bits from view. He looked up to meet wide, stunned grey eyes. 

The Gryffindor then watched, unable to take even a step backwards as those eyes dropped down to take in the sight of his bare chest, and lower, before making an almost leisurely return to his own. A rush of inexplicable heat traveled up Harry’s spine at the way the pupils had dilated, silver retreating to an ever thinning ring around the black. When Malfoy slowly bent down, Harry thought he might’ve stopped breathing all together. 

For a fraction of a second, panic clouded his thoughts in a sort of  _ what is he doing is this some sort of prank _ —

But the blond just retrieved the towel from the floor, wordlessly holding it out in offering. Forcing his body to respond, Harry reached out and snatched it, hastily rewrapping it around himself, one-handed, still awkwardly gripping his clothes. 

“Thanks,” Harry finally croaked out, for what he wasn’t quite certain, and then hurriedly stepped around the Slytherin and made for his bed, closing his curtains as soon as he’d reached it. 

His heart thundered in his chest as he pulled his day clothes on, mind going over and over the way Malfoy had been looking at him… 

And what did it mean if Harry hadn’t wanted him to stop? 

 

‘&’ 

 

Malfoy was his usual self at breakfast, chatting with the others like nothing had happened. Harry considered that he might’ve lost the plot and imagined the whole thing, given that there was no indication the blond even remembered this morning’s encounter. The encounter that did odd things to Harry’s chest if he considered it for too many moments at a time. Harry was both grateful and not for Malfoy’s current behaviour, fidgeting whenever the Slytherin got too near his skin and unable to stop himself shooting glances at the blond every so often. They went unnoticed. 

By everyone it seemed, except Maria. Her eyes traveled from Harry to Malfoy and back again three times a minute, eyes narrowed. 

When the bell rang out, Harry was entirely prepared to be ambushed. He stood up and headed towards Transfiguration without a word, Maria silently trailing him as she did every morning, until they were out of sight of the others that was. Then she gripped him by the arm and hauled him off to the side. 

“Spill,” she demanded immediately. 

Harry didn’t meet her eyes. “I don’t—”

“Can we skip the part where you pretend you don’t know what I’m asking and get to you telling me what I’d like to know?” she inquired sweetly. “Because, I’m not sure if anyone’s ever told you this, but you’re really not subtle, Harry.” 

“Do you think Malfoy… fancies me?” Harry risked asking, doing all he could to keep the terror from bleeding into his voice. 

Maria promptly burst into laughter. Harry watched, pained, while she cackled uncontrollably. She apologised several times through giggles before she finally took in a deep breath, wiping tears from her eyes. “I’m sorry,” she repeated again, “but if you’d seen your  _ face.” _

Harry just stared at her. 

After a moment, her shoulders dropped a bit and she sighed. “Please don’t be that person who flies off the rails because they think they could be gay, okay?” 

“I didn’t say anything about  _ me,”  _ Harry protested, nearly wincing at his own voice. 

Maria gave him an unimpressed look. 

The Gryffindor deflated. “I’m not –  just. This morning… Godric, I can’t stop thinking about the look on his face. I might be going mad.” 

“He looked like he wanted to eat you alive, didn’t he?” she guessed. 

Harry groaned by way of reply. Bloody hell he’d not even explained what happened.

She smirked at him. “It’s how he looks at you when he thinks no one’s watching, you know. Even when you two were having your little fued.” 

The brunet snapped his eyes back to hers. “What?” 

“Everyone knows, Harry,” she told him, exasperated. “There’s even a betting pool somewhere about the reason you guys use last names with each other when you watch each other like  _ that.  _ Because yes, you do it too. The way you two move around each other even...  _ I  _ caught it within five minutes of meeting you, but it’s only gotten more noticeable, believe me.” 

“That’s impossible,” denied Harry, entirely unable to accept she could have come to her conclusions so quickly. Harry could admit that spending time around Malfoy had probably relaxed them to each other’s presence significantly, but that was how it was with friends, wasn’t it? And Malfoy  _ was  _ his friend now. The… other thing was something else entirely. It had to be.

“But  _ why?”  _ Maria demanded, her patience evidently run out. “You need to tell me because it doesn’t make any sense. You’re perfect for each other.” 

“You don’t know him,” Harry explained desperately, glancing around to be sure no one heard. “I mean you do, but you don’t. Not like I do. He is –  _ was,  _ a prejudiced, spoilt arsehole. You lot don’t understand because you never knew him at his worst. We’d been enemies since forever for a reason. Friends sure, absolutely, but I  _ can’t  _ fancy him, not after… all of it.” 

Maria stared at him, mouth opened slightly. Slowly, she nodded. “Wow. Okay. I think I get it now,” she said in something like amazement. “I finally get it, holy shit. It’s kinda like Celine’s family.” 

It wasn’t quite, but Harry nodded anyway, feeling drained. “Except he was their pride and joy,” he added. “They’d never have dreamed of disowning him.” 

“But he’s not like that anymore,” she suddenly countered. “So that just explains why you haven’t been together for years. Hate masks lust pretty well, sure, but now you’ve actually been falling for him because he wasn’t being an ass anymore. It all makes so much  _ sense.” _

“It does?” he asked weakly. 

“I’m sorry, Harry,” she said, consolingly. “You’ve probably been losing your mind and here I am just making fun of you. It’ll be alright. And there’s nothing wrong with being gay, of course, no matter what some assholes will tell you, trust me. But there’s also nothing wrong with liking Draco, either. You gotta put the past in the past and let yourself be happy.” 

The bell signaling the start of class rang out before Harry could even fully process her words, much less think of a way to respond. He sighed, knowing Siskin really didn’t appreciate late students. 

He and Maria broke into a run, the conversation effectively dropped. 

“Ah, Mr. Potter, Ms. González,” Siskin said when they entered five minutes later, out of breath. “So nice of you to finally join us.” 

“Sorry professor,” they said in unison as they took their respective seats. 

“Oh, that’s fine. I’m sure Mrs. Ramirez will be thrilled to have so much help in the library this evening.” 

“Yes professor,” they agreed, put out. 

 

‘&’ 

 

“Maria and Harry?” checked a richly tanned, middle aged woman when they stepped up to the front desk later that evening. 

Harry hadn’t yet needed to come to the library, so the space was brand new to him. It was impressive, being incredibly spacious, the isles wide between shelves lined in neat rows all around him. They were each filled left to right with hundreds of books of every size and shape as far as he could see.

A small number of students milled about for the hour, studying in a wide area filled with tables or writing out passages from various books. Head’s bent together, a pair chatted in hushed whispers while a girl across from them sat alone reading a novel.

There was a lovely, wooden spiral staircase near the back that went up through the second level to meet a third. The railings were of clear glass, embellished with diamond-shaped patterns that caught the candle light. An earthy smell hung pleasantly in the air, completing the mythical atmosphere. 

Maria nodded at the librarian politely in confirmation.

“Professor Siskin said you needed a bit of help,” Harry said. 

“So sweet of him,” said the woman, smiling. “I absolutely do.” 

“Where should we start?” Maria asked. 

The librarian moved off to the side, returning a moment later with a large, empty cart and rolling it toward Harry. “You can go through and grab all the books that are out of place for me, you’ll fill this up in no time. Feel free to use a levitation charm to get the thing up the stairs when you have to.” 

Harry nodded obediently and set off, leaving Maria behind to a giant stack of books in apparent need of checking in. Her face indicated Harry had certainly received the easier task and he agreed, unwilling to even contemplate that much writing and stamping. 

The Gryffindor spent the next hour or so immersed in the menial labour, mechanically pulling and stacking up books without conscious thought. As far as detentions went, cleaning cauldrons was much worse. 

He’d gotten nearly half way through the second level when the murmur of familiar voices brought him out of his trance. Leaving the cart behind to turn the next corner, he found Malfoy and Edgar at a round study table, arguing in low tones. 

The entire surface was littered with several large, battered tomes, many lying over top of others or stacked on in untidy piles. 

“Do you even know for sure it’ll be there?” Edgar griped, stood with one hand balanced on the back of a chair, leaning in to see the page Malfoy held a mammoth book open to.  

“Did you have plans to be helpful at any point today?” Malfoy inquired, tone laced with false curiosity. 

At that, Edgar scowled and stomped off toward the staircase, grumbling as he climbed the steps towards the top level. 

Malfoy watched the other boy vanish and then sat back, features relaxing once he was alone. He rubbed his temples for a moment before picking up an ink pen, tapping it against the table’s edge whilst glancing between the book and an open notebook before him. Harry did nothing to make his presence known, momentarily struck by the lights reflecting off the Slytherin’s platinum hair, shadows accentuating prominent cheekbones. Harry watched as he leaned forward, brow creasing in concentration as a long, pale forefinger moved to trail across specific lines of text. The blond worried his bottom lip with his teeth, ceasing his tapping in favour of quickly scribbling down the words. 

It was impossible to look at him without bringing that morning to the forefront of his mind. 

The idea of wanting Malfoy this way tied his stomach in tight, conflicted knots. 

Harry forcefully shook himself of his thoughts, clearing his throat loudly so he’d be noticed. The blond flinched in surprise, losing his grip on his pen. It clattered against the wood, startling in the midst of otherwise quiet before falling to the ground. 

“Salazar!” he exclaimed, clutching his chest. 

“Sorry,” Harry said. “Er, what’s all this about?” 

“Nothing,” Malfoy responded, then winced, realising how useless of a lie it was. “A project,” he amended. 

“Hm,” said Harry, quickly moving forward and nicking one of the books off the table. 

“Oi!” Malfoy cried, making a grab for it. 

Harry took a wide step backwards, staying out of reach as he began to read aloud.  _ “ _ _ —consume a wizard’s magic for sustenance, or in excess as to enhance their minimal ability to lure their next chosen prey, that most often being those with the highest degree of power available. These succubi were thus hunted to extinction… _ What is this?” 

None of that sounded anything similar to what they’d learnt from Professor Clark. 

Malfoy sighed, deflating a bit. “It’s difficult to explain.” 

Harry simply waited.

“I’m trying to find her,” Malfoy relented. 

“Find who?” 

“Cordelia.” 

Harry blinked at him, thoughts sluggish. “You’re trying to find… Cordelia Gray?” 

“Isn’t that what I just said?” snapped the blond. 

Harry came closer, taking in every visible title.  _ Magical Theory through the Ages,  _ read one. 

_ Archaic Rituals and their Modern Uses.  _

_ Theory of Magical Origins, a Discussion of Lineage.  _

Harry closed the one he held in his hands.  _ Ancient Creatures and Why They’re No More,  _ it read. 

“What’s any of this to do with her?” he questioned, bewildered. 

Malfoy released a frustrated breath. “They were all referenced under stolen magic,” he explained tiredly. “Which I admit is rather on the nose and unlikely to turn results. I’ve been lucky to find more than a single sentence in some.” 

“How long have you been at this?” Harry asked, hardly managing to keep up. How had Malfoy been able to keep this from him? 

“Feels like forever.” It was Edgar who answered, reappearing on the stairway with another large volume in hand. “I’m kinda getting tired of it, honestly.” 

“I don’t recall actually requesting your assistance to begin with,” Malfoy snarked at him. 

Edgar rolled his eyes and shrugged for Harry’s benefit. “What can I say? I love research. And I  _ really  _ don’t like my partner. So I motivated.” 

“Who  _ is _ your partner?” Harry suddenly wondered, unable to recall seeing Edgar with anyone besides the group. He knew Maria was partnered with another Wampus named Misty, and had seen Joshua around with his every so often, though he didn’t know the boy’s name. 

“A bitch,” Edgar answered shortly. He didn’t seem inclined to offer any further information, and Harry was disinclined to press given the tone. Instead, he turned back to Malfoy. 

“I want to help.” 

A covert search for Cordelia Gray was the last thing he’d have expected Malfoy to be up to, and right under Harry’s nose no less. Now that he knew, though, he was shocked that he himself had never considered attempting it. He’d just taken the word of practically everyone that it was a lost cause. 

To his surprise, Malfoy didn’t try shutting down his help straight away. “I’ve meant to ask,” he began after a long moment of assessment, “did you bring that cloak of yours to America with you, Potter?” 

Harry blinked, unprepared for the question. “How did you know about…?” 

The blond smirked, eyes triumphant. “I didn’t for sure, until just now that is.” 

Harry’s shoulders slumped, caught out. He reckoned he should of known; he hadn’t had need of his invisibility cloak in all the time he’d been in America, after all. 

“I’ll need to use it,” Malfoy continued briskly. “I’m in desperate need of access to the restricted section here—only seventh years are allowed unsupervised, and I can’t exactly go to any professors about what I’m actually doing, lest it get around to the thief’s ears and put Cordelia at risk. These books I’ve wasted all this time on are simply too tame, I’m getting nowhere. If I had the Manor library, I’d of no doubt worked it all out by now.” 

Harry couldn’t help his shiver at the thought of all the Dark books and artifacts surely hidden away in Malfoy Manor. But the statement gave him an idea as well. 

“I could contact Sirius, too,” Harry said. “He probably left more than a few Dark volumes back in Grimmauld place, somewhere. ‘The Most Noble and Ancient House of Black’ and all that rot.” 

Malfoy blinked at him, nonplussed. “That would actually… be useful. Didn’t know you had it in you, Potter.” 

Harry scoffed. “So we’re doing this?” 

The blond nodded his agreement. 

“Right then,” he said, “you can use the cloak tonight.”

 

‘&’

 

By that Thursday, however, Malfoy remained less than satisfied. “You’d reckon going to the trouble of roping off four entire shelves would serve some sort of  _ purpose,” _ he hissed, more visibly exhausted than Harry could recall seeing him.

“You still haven’t found anything,” translated Edgar, earning a classic glare from the blond. 

The Horned Serpent didn’t pay it any mind, busy leaning his lounge chair precariously on its back two legs, stealing interested glances at two birds playing magical chess on an ivory end table across the way. Edgar and Celine’s common room was a comfortable mix of studious and casual. It was well lit, the late afternoon sun shining through plush, lavender curtains and illuminating the continually shifting concept art on the walls. Occupied lounge chairs flanked the L-shaped sofa in the centre of the space, the white coffee table before it embellished with tasteful figurines. 

“I’m going back tonight,” Malfoy said, as though he hadn’t been planning to do so since this morning. 

“No,” said Harry. 

This time Malfoy’s glare was directed at him, but he didn’t relent. “You’ll do yourself in if you keep going on without sleep.” 

“Ah, Potter, I didn’t know you cared,” he goaded derisively. 

“Quidditch starts tomorrow,” Harry replied, knowing full well he sounded a touch too dismissive. 

“And that’s more important to you than the life of an innocent?” the blond sneered, sardonic. “How heroes fall.” 

Harry growled, ready to snap back at him. He caught himself at the last moment, sighing in exasperation instead. Just because they were friends, and Harry probably fancied the prat now, didn’t mean he’d stop being Malfoy, after all. Harry’d learnt that quite well, and didn’t mind it most of the time. It was best to simply ignore the blond’s exhausted griping. He made to switch topics. “Sirius said the first of the collection should start arriving…” 

He trailed off when he noticed a petite girl with strawberry blonde curls enter the commons and immediately zero in on them. Well, on Edgar. She was so short that even Edgar had several inches on her, but the way she walked commanded attention. Harry noticed several heads look up at her and then hastily turn back to their business. 

Edgar, however, had no visible reaction. She came to a stop next to his chair, clearing her throat loudly to make him acknowledge her presence. Instead, he did the opposite. Harry and Malfoy watched, bemused, as he reached for the book he’d sat on the coffee table earlier and proceeded to exaggeratedly lick his finger, flipping through the pages with false leisure. 

That lasted all of ten seconds before the small girl released an alarming snarl and literally slapped the novel from his grasp. Edgar eyed it where it landed on the floor for several seconds, his face a cold storm. 

“Why must you always make everything so difficult?” the girl demanded of him in a shrill voice. 

“Yes, Crystal,” Edgar hissed, ignoring the comment, “I’m good for the weekend, you won’t have any detentions. Now  _ leave.”  _

“You don’t get to tell me what to do, Jennifer.” 

Harry and Malfoy exchanged startled, confused glances when Edgar promptly stood, towering over the girl with hands in fists. 

“I’ve told you never to call me that,” he said icily. 

“And  _ I’ve  _ told  _ you  _ that I don’t give a flying fuck what you like to call yourself these days,” she retorted, lips twisted into a sneer as she somehow managed to look down her nose at him. “You’ll always be little Jenny to me.” 

“Do you ever get tired of being such a disgusting piece of shit?” Edgar spit.

“So unpleasant,” she admonished spitefully. “No wonder the only people who associate with you are freaks.” 

When she gave Harry and Malfoy a revolted once over, hexes began crowding Harry’s tongue, his wand having already found its way to his hand at some point. 

“That’s enough,” said the Slytherin, voice glacial as he beat Harry to it. The sight of both their wands pointed at her seemed to break through, because the awful girl backed down. 

“Whatever,” she dismissed, rolling her eyes. She gave Edgar a seething look. “See you next week, loser.” 

Once she was gone, the room itself seemed to breathe a sigh of relief. Edgar collapsed back into his chair, face still flushed with rage and embarrassment. “I’m sorry,” he said. 

“You hardly need to apologise for her,” Harry protested immediately. 

“What was she on about?” asked Malfoy a moment later.  

Edgar groaned. “Dammit,” he cursed. “You two were the only ones who never had to know any different, and she fucking took that from me too.” 

Harry and Malfoy shared a wary look. 

“Jen– no,” Edgar cut himself off and then started again. “That was my name, when I was born. But I was never… my sister, Jade, she’s eleven years older than me. And when I was seven years old I told her that I was a boy, just her, not my parents or anything, and you know what she did? She went into Healer training,” Edgar told them. “Just like that. Wanted to find a way to help me. And five years later, she did it. But, by then, I was twelve; everyone here already knew me, Crystal and I were… best friends, if you can even picture that. And she wasn’t comfortable with me being transgender, obviously. I got over it, I mean, I got to finally be who I was, so what did I care, right? My sister helped me pick my name, change my records, everything. I don’t care what anyone here thinks, but I guess it was nice to not be, like  _ other  _ to you guys, you know?” 

“I’m sorry about your partner,” began Harry, forcefully reigning in his shock at the revelations, “but I’m not sorry that you’ve told us.”

Beside him, Malfoy nodded along in agreement. “You’re still going to be Edgar to us,” the blond assured him, “nothing would suddenly change that.”  

Something in Harry’s chest warmed at how matter of fact the statement was. He hadn’t missed how the Horned Serpent’s shoulders eased fractionally in response. 

Malfoy caught the expression that must’ve been on Harry’s face, and pale cheeks pinked up before they both found somewhere else to look. Malfoy cleared his throat. 

“How did she do it, though?” he inquired, using academic curiosity to break the silence. 

Edgar smiled a bit. “Jade? Lots of study, experiment after experiment on top of her classes and training,” he explained, his voice full of affection. “It’s a potion; I have to take it once a day. It’s like a modified version of polyjuice, but instead of turning me into someone else it just … changes my second X chromosome to Y. I mean, she says it’s a bit more complicated than that but, anyway. She got some awards for it. And I’m not the only one who takes it anymore. Healers will offer it at St. Drexel’s, that’s where she works. She’s been working on getting it distributed nationally, but we’ve hit a few… snags.” 

“Snags?” Malfoy pressed.

“Yeah, um, a faction in the Magical Congress… doesn’t approve,” he rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “That’s sorta why I got close to Celine at first; I thought her mom would listen to her. Obviously, I had no idea. Gotta say I was kinda glad Cel wasn’t the mini Mrs. Moore I was expecting, though.” 

“But there’s still your partner to contend with,” Harry said darkly. 

“Don’t,” Edgar warned, seeing right through him. “Whatever you do’ll just backfire and make everything worse. I really don’t need more Crystal drama.” 

“All right,” said Harry. 

Except that Harry had no plans to leave off, and the side eye Malfoy gave him suggested that he knew it. 

 

‘&’ 

 

“You’ve decided what you’re going to inflict on her?” Malfoy inquired in a whisper that night, long after the dormitory had gone quiet around them. 

Harry sighed, taking his eyes off the ceiling to look at him. In the dark, Malfoy was only an inky silhouette atop his four poster. 

“You can’t expect that I’ll leave things how they are,” murmured Harry. 

“Why not?” the blond questioned. “Edgar does.” 

“And that only makes me wish I’d known sooner,” Harry said in a fierce whisper. “He needs to be rid of her.” 

It was silent for so long Harry’d begun to think Malfoy had fallen asleep, when he finally spoke. 

“I do wonder why you’re so determined to take revenge on that girl, but your solution where I was concerned was lecturing my ear off.” 

Harry blinked, grateful that the dark masked his surprise at the comparison. “Er… that was different.” 

“Was it?” came the light reply. 

_ No,  _ thought Harry. It hadn’t been different. Malfoy had been just as horrible to him, said things that were just as deplorable. Why did it seem so dissimilar in hindsight?

“I don’t know,” he said softly, unsure if he was answering Malfoy or himself. 

“Then you might think to reconsider doing anything ill-advised,” said Malfoy, voice muffled. “Focus on finding Cordelia and getting rid of pairs altogether.” 

Harry bit his lip. “You don’t think I should try lecturing  _ her  _ ear off?” he only half-joked. 

For another long moment, there was no reply. “I don’t think it would work,” Malfoy whispered at last. “Some people… aren’t ready to hear things. If my father hadn’t gone to Azkaban…” 

Harry stared up at the ceiling again, mentally filling in the blanks. Malfoy would still be at Hogwarts, as blood prejudiced as ever and entertaining bitter daydreams of Harry’s death. 

“You’d still hate me,” is how he finished. The thought saddened him more than the rest. 

“What would that part matter?” Malfoy asked quietly. “Even if I wasn’t here, you would be. Out of sight, out of mind, as they say.” 

“We’re mates,” replied Harry. “I don’t much like to think of your despising me.” 

“I suppose you have a point, though it is somewhat ironic when one considers I only hated you because you  _ didn’t  _ want to be mates.” 

At that, Harry propped up on his elbows, trying to see the blond in the dark. “What?” 

Malfoy’s faint reply was wary. “Is that a shock to you?” 

Soundlessly, Harry stood from his bed, stepping over to the Slytherin’s and sitting down on the edge. He pulled the curtains firmly closed around them. 

_ “Silencio,”  _ Malfoy cast at the same time Harry whispered,  _ “Lumos.”  _

“I’m a half-blood,” Harry told him once the light from his wand illuminated the blond’s expression. “I was the boy who’d killed Voldemort. With your family, I reckon thought…” 

Malfoy scoffed in disbelief. “You thought I cared about any of that when I offered you my hand? You were a celebrity, Potter. And then you humiliated me,” he said. “Of course now I know why, mind you, but, at the time, I’d watched this childhood legend of mine prance in and declare that a Weasley was superior to me.” 

“A legend of yours,” repeated Harry, not allowing that bit to slip past. 

He was glad he’d chosen to come over, enjoying the blond’s flush as it stained his cheeks for the second time that day. The sight always made his heart pick up a bit. 

“You were a legend to everyone,” the Slytherin corrected. 

Harry couldn’t hold back his smirk. “Ah, but you said I was a legend of  _ yours.  _ And to think all this time you’ve been so obnoxious about my ‘fans.’” 

“I… well, I got over all that rather quickly, obviously,” he said, still red faced. 

Harry decided to have mercy on him. “You know, in a way, one could say you were a legend of a sort for me, too.” 

“You were raised by muggles, Potter.” 

“Exactly,” replied Harry. “Wizards were legends for me. And you were the first wizard my age I ever met.” 

Malfoy’s brows furrowed. “I was?” 

Harry nodded, recalling that first day in Diagon Alley. “In the robe shop, you made fun of Hagrid and I wanted to throttle you at the same time as ask you about a million different questions.” 

Malfoy stared at him, stunned. “I remember that… I never realised. Salazar, I was trying to seem impressive.” 

“And I hadn’t the faintest idea what you were talking about,” Harry finished, smiling. 

“I lost you before I even knew it,” said Malfoy, suddenly stricken. 

Harry’s smile faded, nonplussed at the reaction. “We were just kids, Malfoy. You couldn’t exactly of known.” 

“It could’ve all been different, though, if I had.” 

“Maybe,” Harry allowed. “Or maybe it would’ve been worse. There’s no point to ‘what if.’” 

“I– … I’m sorry.” 

Harry looked at him, confused. 

“I never said it,” Malfoy clarified. “During your lecture, you said that I’d never apologised. And then afterwards I told you I needed time, and I did —Merlin, but some days I still do—but you were right, I hadn’t. And I am. Sorry. For all the times I... made you hate me.” 

Harry swallowed, unable to think of anything but the earnestness in Malfoy’s deep slate eyes. He looked desperate all of the sudden, like the Gryffindor’s next words were sure to be some sort of rejection. Harry stamped down on his nervousness, unsure how to do any of this but not wanting to overthink it. He reached for the blond’s hand, and just managed to restrain his gasp at the simple touch. 

“I’ve already forgiven you, Malfoy,” he made himself admit quietly. 

The Slytherin looked down at their clasped hands, his starkly pale in Harry’s own, and back to meet Harry’s eyes. “Draco,” he said, a bit shaky. 

At Harry’s expression, he explained, “All my other mates call me Draco, about time you did too, yeah?”

“Oh,” Harry replied, reeling at the turn of events. “Right, yeah. Okay… Draco.” 

And the blond laughed, seeming equal parts amused and delighted. His smile was radiant, infectious, and Harry wanted to kiss it. “I imagine it’ll take some practice, Harry.” 

The brunet’s eyes widened, both at the direction of his own thoughts, and at the way his given name sounded in that voice, as though the other boy had been using it for years. Harry’s chest filled with a satisfaction he couldn’t of described properly. 

He felt a bit light-headed. 

He didn’t think he’d imagined the flash of disappointment on Draco’s face when he eventually pulled his hand away, either. 


	4. Chapter 4

If there was one thing Harry’d learnt about American teenagers recently, it would be that they loved Halloween. He’d always enjoyed what festivities were held at Hogwarts on the day of, but it was practically nothing in comparison to the level of fanfare displayed about Ilvermorny, practically since the calendar had switched over to October 1. The common rooms all seemed to be splashed with orange in odd places, usually clashing with House colours yet increasing in amount the closer to the 31st it became. Artificial cobwebs were hung about the Dining Hall complete with spiders that were often spelled to realistic behaviour, and pumpkins of all shapes and sizes could be found at every other corner. 

It also seemed to have become the mission of the entire student body to scare as many of their classmates as possible, at any given opportunity. Screams of alarm would often ring out only to dissolve into good-natured giggles. As the days passed, even the library had slowly being converted into something resembling a haunted house —though Harry had seen no sign of any actual ghosts at Ilvermorny.  Mrs. Ramirez herself was all too happy dressing up in a Hollywood exaggeration of a witch, or perhaps it was a hag, from time to time just to complete the atmosphere. The Pukwudgie creatures that took care of the campus went largely unseen, but whenever they were glimpsed seemed to be donning skeletal-like costumes, the spikes of their heads painted bone white. 

And no one in the entire castle, Harry was to discover, loved the holiday more than Cosima. 

“We’re throwing a masquerade!” she announced as soon as she’d sat down to lunch on a mid-October day. Celine, right behind her, released a very put upon sigh. 

_ “Another  _ Halloween party, Cos?” Joshua asked, though he didn’t sound particularly opposed. 

Cosima looked at him like he’d gone barmy. “Of course, what does that even mean, ‘ _ another Halloween party’ _ ? I throw one every year don’t I?” 

“And every year,” said her best friend patiently, “everyone goes to the official party in the Dining Hall instead.” 

“Not  _ everyone,”  _ disagreed Cosima, her lip in a pout. Then she promptly brightened. “Besides, I’ve never thrown a masquerade before. It’s not the same as what’ll go on in the Hall, this time. People can go there in hideous costumes and try to scare the living shit out of each other like usual,  _ or  _ they can show up to  _ ours, _ bring dates and dress up sexy. All we have to do is… advertise.” 

“Advertise,” repeated Draco from where he sat next to Harry. 

Cosima nodded enthusiastically. “We have to get the word out, let everyone know they’ve got another option.” 

“And where do you plan to throw this masquerade?” asked the Slytherin. 

Cosima bit her lip and looked to Celine, who sighed again. 

“Cos usually throws the party in her common room,” she answered. 

“And the five of us usually end up drunk, trying to swindle each other at no-maj cards,” Maria said, tone suggesting she was reliving fond memories. 

“How are you supposed to get people to show if you’ve nowhere to fit them?” Draco wondered. 

“Why don’t you throw it in the library?” Harry suggested, speaking up. “It’s practically decorated already, and it’s plenty big enough.” 

For a moment, there was stunned silence. Then Cosima broke into a delighted smile so wide nearly all her teeth shown. “I never thought of that!” 

“That’s because there’s no way Mrs. Ramirez would allow it,” Celine reminded her gently. 

“I’ll ask for you,” Harry found himself saying, for some reason wanting to make this happen. “I’ll get her to agree.” 

Cosima’s eyes were nothing short of adoring. “Harry,” she declared, “you are my new favorite person.” 

Harry didn’t notice the wary look Celine shot towards Draco, nor would he have understood it even if he had. 

The Gryffindor smiled, oblivious. “You should get started on your advertising then.” 

“An excuse to dress up like princesses and sexy nurses?” scoffed Joshua. “All the girls’ll come, no question.” 

Maria threw her bread roll at him.

 

‘&’ 

 

“You want… to throw a ball in my library,” repeated Mrs. Ramirez that day after Quidditch practice, as if she’d been expecting a punch line.

Harry nodded. 

“Do you realize how much damage could be done?” she asked him, incredulous. “Tell me, do I look like a zoo keeper to you?”

Harry looked around himself, picturing the space filled with hundreds of students at once. “No one will harm your books or damage the shelves,” he hurried to assure her. “We just wanted a place to do something, er, special this year.” 

Mrs. Ramirez hesitated, her eyes narrowing. “Why?” 

“Because … this means a lot to my friend,” Harry replied lamely. Truth be told, he wasn’t altogether certain  _ why  _ he’d endorsed this so strongly. It was only a dance. But Cosima  _ had  _ been eager to be successful this year, and Harry had wanted to see that happen. “We’ll even clean up after everyone when it’s finished,” he added, trying to sound as reassuring as possible. 

A night for dancing and fun appealed to him far more than a horror competition, was all. And maybe the idea of asking someone to dance with him also played a role. A certain tall, blond someone perhaps. 

There was a silence while she looked him over, and Harry was already mentally preparing to offer whatever further chores or tasks it might take to convince her when she huffed and said, “All right.” He blinked in surprise. 

The older woman laughed. “You see? You were expecting a no, this is why I said yes.” 

Harry nodded slowly, giving his thanks as he hurried out before she could change her mind, finding Draco waiting for him. He’d expected to be asked, but the blond was uncharacteristically quiet, so Harry answered without being prompted. “She said yes.” 

“Brilliant,” the Slytherin said, flat. 

Harry furrowed his brow, confused at the inflection, and didn’t try to say anything else the whole way back to Thunderbird. 

When they arrived, however, both boys stopped, eyes widening at the sight of the stack of boxes at the foot of Harry’s bed. They shared an excited glance before rushing forward. 

Harry tore open the top box without hesitation, almost not noticing the small note that fluttered out. He caught it at the last moment, unfolding it. 

 

**_Be_ ** **_very_ ** **_cautious with these!_ **

**_Sirius_ **

  
  


That slowed Harry down immediately. All his excitement drained away, and he felt Draco looking at him in concern. 

Before now, everything they’d gone through had been, while admittedly dangerous, nonetheless found in an institution for education. Nothing that they’d just been given access to had the same contingency. These books had belonged to generation of Blacks —notoriously Dark wizards. Most of what was written in these was likely written with the intent to kill or severely harm other wizards and muggles alike, in some way or the other. This wasn’t anything to be messing about with. 

“It’ll be fine,” Draco assured him quietly, obviously having cottoned onto Harry’s train of thought. “I grew up around books like these. It doesn’t matter what they say, it matters what you decide to do with them.” 

“We have to keep them safe, none of our roommates can find these,” replied Harry. 

Draco nodded, glancing around at the currently empty dormitory. “I know a charm an Alohomora can’t get past. It’ll be fine,” he repeated. 

“Alright,” said Harry, steeling himself. “Let’s start sorting.” 

By the time they heard someone enter less than thirty minutes later, they’d shrunk the boxes and stuffed them in a bag beneath Harry’s bed, Draco’s charm cast for good measure. They had the contents of only the first one laid atop the blankets, the curtains closed around them while they marked the titles and probable contents. 

“What d’you reckon this is?” Harry asked, holding up a battered, blank ledger whose pages were yellowing with age. 

“Dunno,” replied Draco absently, his eyes scanning the open tome before him with fascination.

Harry carefully pulled open the book in his hands, fearful that the thing would tear apart. Elegant, faded scrawl greeted him. 

 

**_Property of Victoria Adella Black, 1731_ **

 

“It’s a diary,” said Harry, earning Draco’s attention. 

“Who?” 

Harry turned the book so the blond could see. Draco’s eyes widened, and he dropped the great volume he was holding in favour of snatching it from Harry’s hands. 

“There were rumours she kept journals …” he breathed, flipping pages with extreme care. 

“What did she do?” Harry asked, wary at such a response.

Draco met his eyes. “Officially? Nothing. She died in her late twenties, unmarried with no children. Not much else is on record.” 

“And, er … unofficially?” Harry ventured. 

The blond’s mouth tightened, and he looked back down. “Went mad, murdered her neighbour’s infant son and then killed herself, possibly whilst many months pregnant. Typical Black, of course, but it must’ve been hushed up by all involved.” 

Harry stared at the diary in horror. “Why?” 

“I don’t actually know,” Draco admitted. “I’ve only what my mother’s taught me by word of mouth. My familial education was more tailored to my father’s side, since those were the records we had physical access to.” 

“Would Sirius know?” asked Harry. 

“Possibly,” replied Draco. “Though ancestry is only relevant to a certain extent; what’s not on record isn’t usually discussed in too much depth, especially prior to the 1800s. Preservation charms weren’t invented until 1802, and many records degraded before then. That’s why this ledger appears liable to fall apart at any moment. It probably wasn’t charmed until it was… quite old.” 

“Reckon there are answers in there?” Harry wondered, eying it with trepidation. 

“We’re meant to be searching for answers about what’s happened to Cordelia,” Draco reminded him, closing it decisively. “Victoria is long dead and her story hardly matters at present.” 

“Right,” agreed Harry, but he placed it in his side table drawer to read later, anyway. 

 

‘&’ 

 

When he’d told Cosima she’d been given permission, she’d barreled straight through Draco and the others to all but leap into Harry’s arms, squeezing him so tightly his ribs had protested. “I knew I was right to make friends with you,” she’d told him brightly as she pulled off. “So much planning to do!” 

And plan she had. The school was buzzing; Harry had heard several people talking in the corridors and before classes, about how there was to be a Ball this year instead of  _ the typical horror party  _ and who they were meant to ask. Rhett, a seventh year who was Keeper and Quidditch Captain, was currently lamenting in the locker rooms about asking a bird named Angela to go with him. 

“You’re a Quidditch captain, dude,” said his best mate, a Beater named Sam, “no way she says no to you.” 

Harry wasn’t looking at Draco, as he was afraid his thoughts would be all over his face. He’d been wondering for days at how to ask Draco to go with him in a different way from showing up as partners, without ruining all the progress they’d made at being mates. There was a chance he’d somehow misread everything, and everyone was wrong, and Draco didn’t actually fancy him. He could tell, had paid enough attention to know that the blond was at least  _ attracted  _ to him. But if that wasn’t enough, and Harry went through with it anyway, then the Slytherin would start avoiding him again, which would be unbearably inconvenient given the search… and the fact that Harry didn’t even like to contemplate not being around him anymore.

“If it was Quodpot, maybe,” countered Rhett. “Dammit, who just  _ had  _ to make Halloween into date night? I should just forget it and go to the Dining Hall.” 

“You could, but Angela won’t,” said Sam, sympathetic. 

Rhett’s shoulders slumped miserably. “Yeah, I know.” 

Cosima would have been thrilled to of witnessed this exchange, Harry thought. It brought a smile to his face as they walked out to the field. 

Getting into the air always brought on a rush. Quidditch practice was only two or three times a week, since the official season wouldn’t be starting until mid-November, much like back at Hogwarts. Harry, however, would’ve been glad for the chance to play everyday. Most practices, though, he simply kept track of how many times he could’ve gotten the snitch, sometimes doing laps around the pitch to test his speed whilst still watching what was going on in the match. It was easier than having to catch and release again and again. Harry had become accustomed to simply watching Draco. The way he moved through the air, dodging bludgers and sending the quaffle into the goal as many times as possible. How his white-golden hair whipped around his face and his cheeks coloured with exertion. 

Harry couldn’t of said when he’d first noticed that Draco was stunning —Maria claimed this was due to him having simply always thought it and suppressing it—but now the fact occupied his mind often, distracting him at odd times. 

It was as though something had awakened inside of him. They’d been atop Harry’s fourposter several days ago, silently studying different pages of text, when Harry had looked up at Draco and realised he’d like to do far more than kiss him. 

He’d realised that he’d have quite liked to clear off all the books that separated their bodies and give in to the urge to do something, anything and he was sometimes nervous to examine it all too closely but Harry could no longer pretend like he didn’t want to touch Draco, to feel him shiver as he pressed his lips to the blond’s neck. He wanted to hear his breathing hitch and feel his body stutter. He wanted to know what it would feel like to drown in him. 

The force of his feelings was still somewhat petrifying, given never having felt anything of such magnitude for another person before. His ill-fated crush on Cho had been based entirely on her natural kindness and possibly her interest in Quidditch, and not anything to do with her as a person. Hindsight showed him that his feelings where she’d been concerned were quite dull, superficial even. 

He’d never felt anything to the degree that he was now, to wish to drown in his want for someone. It was rapidly becoming debilitating, he  _ needed _ to do something about it, preferably before he went mad. What felt like all the time now, he’d get caught up in picturing what he’d do, where they’d be and how Draco would—

A bludger clipped him hard on the shoulder and he nearly lost his grip. Godric, he thought, he hadn’t even seen the thing coming. He shook himself, waving off Sam’s apology slash directive to  _ get his head in the game  _ and taking a lap round to get hold of himself. Eventually, Rhett blew the whistle signaling end of practice and Harry quickly went after the snitch, landing a couple of minutes later to Draco waiting for him. 

“Your shoulder all right?” the blond checked immediately. 

Harry grinned at him. “You think a bludger could do me in?” he teased. “I’ve fought dragons.” 

“Dragon,” corrected Draco as they walked towards the showers, close enough that their arms brushed with every step, “singular. And I’d hardly forgotten. You’ve also fallen straight out of the sky once, I remember that quite well. You’ve no sense of self-preservation.” 

“Those were hardly my fault,” Harry protested without any heat. 

“Ah, shall we list the instances that were, in fact, your fault?” Draco asked with false airiness. “Because I could, if you’d like. Starting first year, when you risked—”

“I get it,” Harry laughed, cutting him off. “You’ve kept track of me.” 

Draco’s cheeks flushed that wonderful pink, his next words forgotten. And Harry added, “S’pose we kept track of each other, though.” 

The Slytherin ducked his head, but Harry was sure he was pleased at the admission. 

 

‘&’

  
  


**_Dearest Diary,_ **

 

**_I am quite displeased this day. You see, Father has sold a portion of our land away and only just deigned to inform me of it. I’m to lose my garden. He claims that the Rowle’s are decent, Pureblood men, at the very least. But I fail to see why we should have to sacrifice what belongs to this family to make room for them. Is there not other land available to these so called decent men? And Father has gone so far as to invite them to dine with us this very evening. Stealing our land and stealing our food, as well, it seems. Simply shameful if I’m asked._ **

  
  


Harry rolled his eyes down at the old parchment, ignoring the remainder of the page. He turned through them, searching for something that would indicate Victoria’s assumed psychosis. The Black ancestors were people of legend, all assumed incredibly dangerous and powerful in some form of the other. This wasn’t exactly off to an interesting start what with expectations like that. 

  
  


**_Dearest Diary,_ **

 

**_Is it possible to fall in love with someone who possesses no magic? My soul aches with the want for him, but he is a Squib. Atticus is pure as his brother is, why should Axel be such a powerful wizard but Atticus nothing more than muggle? It is cruelty to us both._ **

**_I believe that Atticus may love me. He has not allowed his brother to tear up my garden, he has instead tended to it._ **

  
  


Harry sighed, bored, this being the third similarly shallow entry. These were not the ramblings of a mad woman, at least not from the pages he’d skimmed through thus far. He was beginning to wonder why this ledger had been kept a part of the family collection at all, or if perhaps they’d come across others. 

He closed the small journal and picked up the next battered spell book Draco had suggested he check. They’d only made it through three of the boxes, and none had proven very useful despite how horrid some of the contents were. Harry and Draco had sworn never to speak any of the words they’d read aloud, for obvious reasons. 

The book before him had the title on the spine all but burnt off, and the first several pages had long been crudely torn out. There was scratchy, cramped handwriting in every margin that was nearly illegible. 

He set to trying to decipher it. 

 

‘&’ 

 

“So,” Maria asked, likely attempting to sound idle, “who were you all thinking of asking to the Ball?” 

They were all at breakfast the following morning, Joshua and Edgar had been in some sort of heated debate that Harry hadn’t been paying attention to, given that he and Draco had been discussing the homework due in Professor’s Clark’s class that they’d somehow both forgotten to do. 

Cosima looked up at Maria, her hand pausing on its path towards the pumpkin juice. She blinked several times. “I hadn’t even thought of it. I’ve been so busy planning for everyone else.” 

Celine shot her a fond smile. 

“I’m not asking anyone,” Joshua answered, dismissively. 

Cosima pouted at him. “You should at least try, you still have a week.” 

“He’d say yes you know,” Maria told him, though she glanced minutely at Harry when she said it. 

Joshua gritted his teeth. “I don’t want to  _ dance  _ with that snake, Mari.” 

Edgar rolled his eyes in typical fashion. “Sure you don’t.” 

“What about you then, huh?” Joshua wondered, affronted. “I haven’t heard you planning on asking anyone.” 

“No one would say yes to me,” Edgar replied bluntly. 

“That excuse is getting kinda old, Ed,” said Cosima, not unkindly. “Not everyone is like Crystal.” 

“Forget about me,” Edgar said, turning towards Harry and Draco. “What about you two? Working on matching costumes?” 

“Er…” began Harry, trying to mask his rising panic. This wasn’t anything like how he’d been thinking of doing this, wasn’t remotely close to how he’d wanted to. “I dunno.” 

Maria gave him a disappointed look, pressing her lips together. 

“Who’re you going with, Celine?” Draco suddenly inquired, sounding a bit pained. 

Celine blinked, evidently not having been considering anyone. “I’d honestly just planned on tailing after Cos, making sure she doesn’t spend the whole night stressing.” 

Cosima smiled at her in appreciation. 

“Would you consider going with me?” Draco replied, his eyes locked solely on the blonde across from him. Harry couldn’t help looking at him in shock before he forcefully masked it. 

There was a long, uncomfortable silence as Celine stared back at the Slytherin, her eyes flashing to Harry several times. Harry himself remained very still. 

“... if you’d like me to, I guess that’s… fine,” she finally answered. 

Draco smiled his lovely smile for her. “Brilliant, thanks.” 

Maria stared at Harry while Harry stared at his plate. Breakfast was quiet until the bell rang out. 

“Harry,” said Maria, barely managing to keep pace with him as they made their way to Transfiguration. 

He didn’t reply. 

“Harry come on,” she said again, “slow down, at least. I have short legs.” 

The Gryffindor took a breath and slowed his gait for her sake. 

“Thank you, now can we talk about what the  _ fuck  _ just happened, please?” she asked. 

“You were there,” he said. “There’s nothing to talk about. I’ve been deluded, an utter pillock.” 

“Full disclosure I don’t know what you’re saying all the time,” she replied, “but I’m pretty sure you just called yourself stupid and we’ve been over this: you’re not stupid for liking him.” 

“It was  _ stupid  _ to think he’d feel that way about  _ me,”  _ said Harry. 

Maria sighed, exasperated. “Harry, Draco doesn’t like Celine.” 

“He asked her didn’t he?” 

“Yes but– come on, that’s not–”

“Leave off, all right?” Harry ordered, not waiting for her answer as he entered Siskin’s class and took his seat. He spent the next hour or so pointedly ignoring the concerned looks Maria sent his way. 

The worst of it was that it made sense for Draco to be interested in Celine. Not only was she as beautiful as he was, but was also a genuinely kind-hearted pureblood woman. She was possibly everything someone like Draco would need, as well as everything his mother would want for him. Well, if she could still do magic, that was. Still, she was someone his mates back home probably wouldn’t disapprove of. Not like they would of him. 

Humiliation seeped into Harry’s bones. Everyone had acted like his feelings were such a given, so painfully obvious, it was more than likely Draco had known what was going on in Harry’s mind all along and hadn’t been able to think of a way to discourage him without ruining their newfound friendship. 

And what did it matter if Draco  _ was  _ a bit attracted to him? He’d just made it clear that he didn’t want to be. The blond was likely ashamed of all the rumours surrounding them, it would explain why he’d never actually addressed them. 

Everything was falling together with such perfect clarity, and Harry wanted to break everything in sight. 

Things with Draco were stilted for the rest of the day afterward, and Harry felt it all like an acute pain. They chose to forgo any research that night, as well, instead avoiding each other under the guise of catching up on school work they’d been neglecting. It was possibly for the best where their marks were concerned, but that was the last thing on his mind with the shame and disappointment burning him like so much acid. He wished that he could talk to Hermione, but she wouldn’t be able to understand unless Harry confirmed Draco’s whereabouts, which he’d never do. As much as the rejection stung, Harry would protect the Slytherin no matter what. 

“Hey, Harry,” said Celine, catching Harry as he walked out of Potions the following day. He usually met up with Edgar and they’d walk to Charms, but Celine had been waiting to ambush him instead. It wasn’t that Harry was upset with her, she just wasn’t someone he wanted to be around at present. 

“Wotcher,” he replied, avoiding her eyes as he walked. 

“Um. I was just wondering if we could talk… about Draco?” 

“What about him?” said Harry flatly. 

Celine reached out for his arm. “Maria told me, uh, what you think. And it’s not– I just wanted to tell you that it’s not like that.” 

The brunet sighed. “It’s fine if it is,” he said, “I don’t mind.” 

She looked unimpressed. “Harry.” 

“Who’s Cosima going with now?” Harry wondered, cutting in before she could try to offer any further reassurances. “Since Draco’s taking you. It’s her masquerade, she shouldn’t go alone.” 

“Oh, uh, I don’t know. But that’s not really important–”

“I was thinking of asking her if she’d like to go with me,” he informed her, “since we’re mates and she’ll need someone to show with.” 

Celine opened and closed her mouth. “I’m not really… sure…” she said eventually. 

Edgar was waiting outside their Charms classroom when they reached it. “Sure you don’t want to walk a little slower?” he inquired with false curiosity. 

“Where were you?” Harry wondered, but got his answer when Edgar shot Celine a questioning look. Harry rolled his eyes at them both and slipped into class without waiting for a verbal reply. 

He eventually caught Cosima outside of the Dining Hall that evening before dinner, inquiring in a quiet tone if anyone had asked her yet. 

“And you’re… asking?” she checked. 

He nodded. “I mean, since Draco and Celine … sort of left us without partners, yeah? And we’re mates. It would be, er, fun.” 

She smiled a little sadly at him. “You know I’d love to go with you as friends, Harry. Celine is really sorry about the Draco thing, you know.” 

Harry waved her off. “I’ve told her it’s all right.” 

She gave him a sympathetic look. “Yeah, she said you said that. But we  _ will _ have fun, okay? I promise. What did you want to dress as?” 

“I don’t actually have a costume,” Harry admitted, “or really anything to make one with.” 

She smirked at him roguishly. “My dad runs a costume shop in Michigan. Mine’s already arrived, I could have him send something express for you.” 

Harry nodded, relieved to have that sorted so easily. “How do people normally get costumes?” he wondered idly as they walked. 

Cosima shrugged. “Who knows? Some go to the professors for permission to go shopping. Some have their own means. Hardly matters, everyone dresses up somehow.” 

“What’re you to be, then?” he inquired. 

She gave him a shy grin. “Oh, uh, a queen. I figured it fits, since I’m in charge…. would you like to be my king?” 

He smiled back at her easily. “That’d be brilliant.” 

 

‘&’ 

 

**_Dearest Diary,_ **

 

**_I worry for Atticus._ **

**_He has been confusing of late. He revealed to me two nights past that he plans to become a wizard, you see. And I fear what this means for the stability of his mind._ **

**_He insists to me that it is not delusion, there is a plan he’s been crafting for some time.  It is his claim to have discovered, in his studies, the possible solution to his affliction._ **

**_If he is right, if Atticus can become a wizard, he tells me we would be free to marry. He wishes to marry me! Except, I’m not sure if I can allow myself to hope for something as blatantly impossible as this, nor to base my future off of it._ **

  
  


Harry looked down at the faded entry before him, bemused. He knew quite well that there was no cure for being a Squib, and he idly wondered how many like Atticus convinced themselves  _ they  _ would be the one who discovered the answer before it was finally deemed an impossibility. It was more than likely there were those who still searched. 

He turned to the next page, intent on learning how Atticus had gone about his attempt, but was interrupted by Draco entering the dormitory. He quickly closed the journal and stuffed it beneath his pillow, refocusing on his Charms essay, despite having forgotten what he was meant to be writing on. Draco didn’t say anything as he entered, just laid flat atop his bed and stared up at the ceiling for several long minutes. 

“That diary as riveting as you thought?” he eventually inquired. 

Harry chewed on his bottom lip. “Bit boring, really.” 

Draco nodded. “You’ve been avoiding me.” 

“You’ve been avoiding me,” retorted Harry. 

The blond nodded again, not bothering to deny it. “Is Cosima excited to be going with you?” 

“How did you know I’d asked her?” The question slipped out a moment before he remembered Celine would’ve told him, and his mood soured further.

“Figured you would,” replied the Slytherin, impassive, “wasn’t certain when.” 

Harry wasn’t sure how to respond, so he didn’t. He missed being able to talk to Draco. Harry’d become so comfortable around him. The brunet desperately wished he could turn towards the Slytherin and say whatever was on his mind. Trade complaints about professors or students they didn’t like; gripe about inconsequential things. To talk about random, happy memories or uncertain future plans. To have Draco lightly poke fun at him, or laugh at each other’s jokes. It was so very disorienting to feel alone in Draco’s presence now. 

But, as the week crawled towards month’s end, nothing improved. 

 

‘&’ 

 

The date on the calendar brought about mixed emotions. Harry had checked on Sirius via the mirror that morning, not liking to imagine his godfather on his own today. Fifteen years ago, the animagus had been arrested and taken to Azkaban for supposedly murdering Wormtail, and Voldemort had murdered Harry’s parents. It was difficult to reconcile such a jovial holiday with the anniversary of so much pain. 

Growing up, Harry hadn’t known to be sad on Halloween. And now it was an odd, dissonant feeling. He did what he could to ignore it, assuring his godfather that he was fine and was only worried for him. For all that, however, it didn’t take long for Harry’s friends to notice something amiss. 

“You do know it’s Halloween, right?” Joshua asked him lightly, “because you’re acting like someone died.” 

Harry almost smiled. “Someone did,” he admitted. 

He noticed Draco still, looking over at him in immediate comprehension and pity. Harry had talked about his parents to the blond a fair amount, about how much he still missed them sometimes, despite never really knowing them. The rest of the table eyed he and Draco in confusion. 

“My parents,” Harry explained. “This is the day they died. It’s just odd to remember, s’all.” 

“Your parents died,” Cosima repeated numbly. “How come none of us knew that?” 

“I don’t typically introduce myself as an orphan,” retorted the Gryffindor. “Bit awkward, that.” 

“But you knew,” Edgar said to Draco. 

The blond nodded. “Of course, it was a bit of a… er, significant night.” 

“What do you mean?” Cosima asked, both confused and wary. 

Harry was suddenly unwilling to have this conversation, and he said as much. He appreciated the way they all immediately left off. There was no more talk of his parents from them the remainder of the day, and he was grateful. 

The Ball was upon them in no time at all. 

He stood outside the Pukwudgie common room, feeling a touch ridiculous and excessively warm in his elaborate, red leopard coat and garish crown, his gold face mask pressing tightly to his cheeks. Several birds came out in various ensembles, ranging from oddly small muggle nurse dresses to comically gothic vampires in long, black gowns stained with fake blood. Many of them examined him, eyes appreciative through their own masks, before heading off toward the library. The blokes who came out more often gave him looks of sympathy. 

When Cosima finally exited, laying eyes on him, she laughed delightedly. “You clean up nice, your Highness,” she giggled. 

“As do you,” he replied. It was true. She was adorned in an outlandish, classic gown that must’ve had a corset beneath it, her sleeves stuffed in a Cinderella-like manner. A sparkling diadem sat atop her head, her once untamable hair having been smoothed and pulled back into a thick bun, wrapped in a circular braid. She beamed at him and performed a small bow. 

“Shall we?” she asked, offering one hand dramatically, the other gripping the stick of a royal red mask. 

He obliged her with a smile. 

The library proved to be the perfect venue. It appeared to Harry like a haunted muggle manor he’d see on a telly. The spiral staircase had been covered in realistic cobwebs; the study area had been cleared entirely of the usual oak tables, creating a wide dance floor. The bookshelves remained in place, but were wrapped in seemingly old, excessively dusty plastic, protecting them whilst also aiding the illusion nicely. Eerie fog had been spelled to stick close to the ground, making it difficult to see anyone’s feet. 

Soft, somewhat ominous music that pulsed electrically drifted about them from an unseen source. 

It was early evening, and many pairs already mingled about. Cosima told him that nearly half the school had still chosen a night of scare-tactics in the Dining Hall, but she didn’t seem to mind. The majority was to turn up here. 

“It’s all because of you,” she told him happily. “This never would’ve happened without your help.” 

“We do owe you big,” said Celine’s voice. Harry turned to find her and Draco entering, the Horned Serpent’s right hand gripping the crook of Draco’s arm possessively. 

For a moment, Harry could only stare. Celine was beautiful as ever, wearing an odd style of dress that appeared to be made of a hundred silvery strings that shifted loosely with her every step, the colour making her ultramarine eyes appear even more pronounced than usual. She wore a wig far shorter than her usual hair, and not quite as blonde, her mask attached at the tips to a strange headband containing a single upturned feather. Beads adorned her neck and dove to hang off her upper body. 

But Harry only registered these things briefly, because once his eyes had taken in Draco, everyone else became nothing more than noise. 

The Slytherin was clad in an angel-white suit, a deep silver dress shirt beneath it that precisely matched his face mask, accentuating his high cheekbones and already vibrant irises. There was a white bow tie fastened below his throat. His bright hair was a halo, parted on the side and fashioned into a wave. The hand opposite Celine loosely gripped a long, grey cane. 

He looked, Harry thought, immaculate, as well as unbearably, overpoweringly perfect. 

“You two are so winning the costume contest!” exclaimed Cosima brightly. 

Celine smiled, satisfied with herself. She looked down at her dress and said, “I do pull off the ‘20’s pretty well, don’t I.” 

“You both look  _ amazing,”  _ Cosima confirmed. 

“Perfect together,” added Harry, speaking for the first time. He almost winced at how bitter the comment sounded, but it was true. They looked like they belonged on a celebrity runway somewhere, a pair of models in a magazine. 

Celine bit her lip. “Um, you two look really good too.” 

Cosima’s laugh was just this side of too forced. “Well, that’s a relief, since I can barely breathe in this thing. Can you believe people used to dress like this?” 

“Not quite like that,” Draco corrected. “It’s a bit of an approximation.” 

The Pukwudgie waved it off. “I’m in a corset, Draco, it’s good enough.” 

He smiled a bit, Harry’s eyes drawn to the slight curve of his lip. “Reckon that’s fair.” 

He seemed to be trying not to look Harry’s way, and the desire to do something ill-advised to demand the blond’s direct attention rose in Harry. He was, luckily, interrupted by the entrance of Maria and her date. 

“Hey guys,” she said, jovial. She wore a long, fluffy white coat that looked like it might’ve weighed ten pounds, a plain black dress beneath it. Her hair was a shock, parted down the middle with one side it’s natural, deep black and the other dyed white to match her coat. Her lips were the same bright red as the gloves and mask she wore. She gestured to the girl standing beside her. “This is Abby, my girlfriend,” she added, sounding highly pleased with herself. 

Abby flushed brightly, the hand laced with Maria’s tightening its grip. It appeared painful, but Maria’s smile only widened. The girl’s hair was still the colour of red wine, curled to sit before her collar bones. She wore a midnight gown made of bird-like material, the feathers of her mask suggesting she was meant to be a black swan. Dark eyes gazed at Maria adoringly, and Harry was struck with jealousy. It wasn’t that he wasn’t glad for his friend, mind, but he envied her luck. 

Joshua eventually joined their group, wearing a dark suit and thin black mask, the rest of his face painted to resemble a skull. A small brunette girl was on his arm donning a red cape and hood. 

Everyone stared at them for a long moment. 

“You’re such a jackass, Josh,” said Maria. 

He gifted her a poison smile and lead a bemused Averie Stevenson to the dance floor. 

“Someone tell me I’m not seeing what I think I’m seeing,” begged Edgar when he arrived, his eyes glued to Joshua and Averie spinning in practiced circles. “Tell me he’s not this much of a dick.” 

“Matt is going to castrate him,” Cosima said, sounding unconcerned. 

“Let’s go dance, babe,” Maria said, pulling Abby along towards the floor. 

“I have to go check if the food is all set,” Cosima informed Harry, vanishing a moment later. 

It all proved to be an enjoyable evening. Harry hadn’t ever been known for dancing, but this wasn’t the Yule Ball. No one cared about his ability to waltz or anything of the sort. Once the music had picked up, it was more chaotic movement and cheerful patterns. Most people lost their masks, even shedding the top layers of their costumes as the space heated with the motions of hundreds of bodies. Harry hadn’t the faintest where his crown had gotten lost, and was only vaguely able to recall shrugging off his long coat and finding relief in the looseness of his odd, old fashioned trousers. 

People mingled on the outskirts as well, often traveling up the staircase to gather together in the upper levels. When Harry ventured to the third level, it was to find a large group participating in karaoke, giggling madly as their companions crooned aloud. He’d scurried back down when several of the girls among them attempted to convince him to sing. 

The array of snacks proved delicious, despite being spelled to appear as eyeballs or human fingers and the like, the punch seeming thick as blood. 

He hadn’t seen Draco but for when he and Celine indeed won the couple’s costume contest. Harry’d had to force himself to clap and smile for them. 

At present, the Slytherin was sans his mask, bow tie having disappeared somewhere and suit jacket loose. If Harry hadn’t already been sweating, he was sure he’d have started now. 

“Good time?” Draco asked politely, stopping at Harry’s side and watching pairs refill the dance floor. 

Harry nodded. “Cosima’s happy.” 

“Yes I imagine she is,” replied the blond, and Harry eyed him at the bitter tone. 

Before he could question him, however, the energetic music came to an abrupt halt, soft, romantic tones of a piano starting up in place of it a moment later. Harry felt Draco stiffen beside him and forcefully kept his gaze on the floor, unwilling to even glance at the blond now. Several clusters were breaking apart in search of their dates. Harry could just make out Maria and Abby already embracing, swaying slowly across the room from where he stood. He watched Joshua take the petite Averie’s hand and spared a moment to roll his eyes. Matthew was likely to be in the Dining Hall, if  _ that  _ was still going on. Edgar left the floor altogether, heading back toward the food. 

Harry tensed when he saw Celine was making her way over to them, her steps becoming unsure as she got close enough to notice Harry standing beside her date. Harry, somewhat frantic to get away from Draco now, began searching out Cosima, and was relieved to quickly notice her on the edge of the floor, chatting with a girl he’d never seen. 

“Er,” said Harry hastily, still avoiding Draco’s eyes, “have a good time.” 

He didn’t wait for any reply as he headed toward his queen for the night. She smiled widely when she noticed him, though her eyes held pity when she registered the direction he’d come from. 

Harry dismissed it, offering his hand with a theatrical bow. “May I have this dance?” 

His friend giggled, placing her small hand in his. “It would be my pleasure.” 

Neither of them bothered with anything complex, simply swaying with several inches between them. This wasn’t so bad when there were too many people for anyone to be paying attention to him.

Harry was lost in his thoughts, doing his best not to look around. The last thing he wanted to see was Draco and Celine doubtless performing some romantic routine. 

“Draco just left,” Cosima said suddenly, and Harry looked down at her in surprise before he hurriedly checked his surroundings. 

Celine was stood by the exit, looking directly at Harry, her eyes sad. 

“Why?” Harry wondered, bewildered. 

“Oh, Harry,” she sighed, “you’re not the sharpest tool are you?” 

The Gryffindor furrowed his brows. 

“He left because he’s jealous,” she told him patiently. 

“That doesn’t make sense,” Harry protested automatically. 

“Will you just go after him please?” she implored. “Just, please. We’re all so tired of this.” 

“But–”

“Go!” Cosima shouted, and the sudden force of it shocked him into doing as he was told. At least, that was what he told himself. 

He caught up to Draco almost to Thunderbird wing, calling out for him to stop. Draco did, his shoulders straightening as he turned to face Harry. “What.” 

“You’re not meant to be out by yourself,” said Harry, suddenly unable to think of a thing to say now he was staring at the blond’s face.

Draco rolled his eyes up towards the ceiling, making a show of pleading for strength. “Staff’s a bit busy,” he replied shortly. 

“But why leave at all?” Harry pressed, needing to hear some kind of sensible reason. It couldn’t be jealousy, not when Draco was the reason they hadn’t gone together in the first place. 

“I’d had enough.” 

“Enough,” repeated Harry. 

“Of you and her,” replied the blond, his teeth gritted.  

“I don’t understand,” Harry said. Hope was starting to gather within him, and that seemed dangerous, somehow. 

Draco sighed, very put upon. “I suppose I would have to spell it out for you, wouldn’t I?” he said. “Fine. I left, Harry, because I’ve realised I’d rather pitch myself off the castle roof than sit there for another moment listening to love songs while you romance your oh so lovely girlfriend about the dance floor.” 

“My… girlfriend?” asked the Gryffindor, feeling like he was liable to laugh in disbelief. 

“Oh, apologies, have you not reached that stage yet?” said the Slytherin, irate. 

“You don’t make any sense, Draco,” Harry said to him. “Where the bloody hell did you get the idea that Cosima is my girlfriend? I don’t even fancy her. She’s not– she’s never been anything except my friend.” 

“I’ve seen the way she looks at y–”

“Then you’ve gone round the twist!” Harry suddenly exploded, unable to hold back any longer. “Because Cosima knows I fancy  _ you,  _ sort of like everyone else does. So if I can manage to endure all their pity while you and your perfect, pureblood girlfriend win bloody costume contests and make the rest of us look like rubbish, then you ca– mmph!” 

Harry’s eyes went wide, his body shocked into immobility, because Draco had surged forward and pressed his lips hard against Harry’s. 

It wasn’t until he felt the Slytherin begin to pull away that he realised he hadn’t managed to move. Harry chased Draco’s mouth, refusing to allow it to end before he’d done anything. He let his eyes fall shut, kissing the blond back with everything he had. 

Harry’s first kiss had, in all honesty, been a disaster; when he thought of it, he couldn’t even reasonably call it a kiss. It had lasted mere seconds, and Harry had spent those seconds certain he wasn’t doing anything right and wondering how he was meant to be moving his lips. And Cho had been crying, which hadn’t served to improve matters.    
It was, admittedly, a worry of his, even in his fantasies. 

He discovered quickly, however, and with no small measure of relief, that kissing Draco was to be absolutely nothing like that. Harry wasn’t preoccupied with fretting over the position of his lips or thinking whether he was meant to use his tongue or not. In fact, Harry wasn’t thinking much at all.    
He had absolutely no interest in anything except  _ feeling. _ The Slytherin’s lips were as astonishingly soft as they’d been in his dreams, his mouth now moving eagerly against Harry’s own.    
At some point, Harry threaded his fingers through the hair at Draco’s nape, drawing him in closer, tongue worrying his bottom lip and prodding his mouth gently open. The blond’s response was almost startling. His hands flew to Harry’s hips, gripping tightly while he took over, stealing further into the brunet’s mouth.

They could’ve snogged for minutes or hours, it hardly mattered. Everything was secondary to this, this impossible feeling. The cold corridor wall was pressed to his back, and he couldn’t recall when that had happened. Only that the world consisted entirely of Draco’s body, and anything beyond him was irrelevant. He ran his hands up Draco’s back, clutching at him with a desperation he couldn’t control. They were flushed so tightly together; it was almost too much and somehow not enough. 

Eventually, after perhaps a century of bliss, it was Draco that pulled away, just enough to rest his forehead lightly against Harry’s own. 

“You’ve no idea,” said the blond breathlessly, “how long I’ve wanted to do that.” 

“Could’ve fooled me,” Harry admitted quietly. 

Draco pulled back enough to meet his eyes, a view of his own reflection in them. 

“When I asked her,” Draco explained in a low voice, “it was a mistake. I only did it because I convinced myself that you…” he trailed off, there was no need to say it again. Harry could see the need on his face, though, that Harry believe him, accept him. 

“You're daft,” said Harry, entirely fond. Draco smiled his gorgeous smile, the slightest dimple on his left cheek that Harry’d never been close enough to notice. The relief visibly lightened him. Harry marveled at it, how his heartbeat quickened from that smile alone. He really was gone on Draco, he thought, could hardly deny it now. Wouldn’t of wanted to. 

“I’m sorry,” replied Draco, his voice soft. 

“I reckon that’s my favourite addition to your vocabulary.” 

The Slytherin cuffed him about the head, and Harry grinned. 

“I’d rather like to kiss you again, now.” 

“S’pose I could allow that,” Draco said airily, but he was still smiling like a fool. 

After a long while spent snogging, albeit slower and more gently this time, they eventually made their way back to the Ball, where they spent the rest of the night rotating contentedly in each other’s arms, paying the actual music little mind. 

Their respective not-girlfriends practically radiated smugness with their every glance. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Meanwhile... there's a little Wolfstar ficlet on my profile, if you'd like to see what's going on with them: **the only home.** (Very sorry, ao3 hates me and won't let me embed working links).


	5. Chapter 5

“Salazar, listen to this,” said Draco from where he rested against Harry’s pillows, his voice horrified, “a spell to pull your innards out through the throat.”

Harry reached forward and plucked the most current awful book from Draco’s hands, tossing it somewhere behind him. “I’ve read worse lately,” he stated simply as he straddled the Slytherin and captured his lips with his own. 

Harry had spent the better part of two weeks doing only this, and it never dulled. He’d never of been able to imagine himself this absurdly happy, and it still shocked him at times. When Draco would find him in the halls and grasp his tie, pulling him off to some corner to snog, often resulting in tardiness and detentions. Or how they’d pass notes whenever Clark turned her back for a long enough moment, now often consisting of the sort of talk that would turn the professor crimson should she catch them at it. Or simply how they’d sometimes stay up late into the night, side by side on whichever of their beds they happened to choose, reading or talking or laughing, enjoying the simple comfort of the other’s presence in a new way. 

He knew what their dorm mates likely assumed their sharing a bed entailed. But Harry wasn’t willing to pressure the blond into anything. Draco fancied him, was his honest to Merlin boyfriend now, and that was more than good enough for the Gryffindor at present. It was more difficult than Harry liked to admit, though, not allowing himself to get too carried away in the blond’s touch, not to tear away all the layers between their skin and explore Draco’s body with his lips. It left him breathless at times, how deep his feelings ran.

Currently, Harry was attempting to leave the latest of many marks on the blond’s pale neck, his hands having made their way beneath the Slytherin’s turquoise button up and tracing along the skin of his back. Delightful sounds spilled from Draco’s lips as he clutched at Harry. And then he was pushing at Harry’s shoulders, a silent command. Harry complied, only to find himself lying flat against his mattress, albeit upside down, the blond now atop him. Their lips connected again, and again, this kiss somehow aggressive and languid at once. Harry was certain he could do nothing but this all the rest of his life and be wholly content. 

Or he would have done, had something not found its way underneath him and been digging furiously into his back. 

“Wait,” he was forced to murmur into Draco’s mouth, and the blond pulled back, his breathing laboured. 

Harry reached beneath him, finding the culprit to be a familiar, black ledger. He stared at it, the world sluggishly coming back into focus now Draco wasn’t kissing him. 

“You’ve still been reading that?” asked the blond, having recognised it. 

“Not much,” admitted Harry. He gave his boyfriend a cheeky grin. “Been a bit distracted.” 

“Deepest apologies,” said Draco with false airiness, “I’ll just go and leave you to it then, shall I?” 

Harry dropped the journal onto the floor, giving no mind to where it landed, and pulled Draco back to him. “Not a chance,” he said. 

All other thoughts fled his mind, leaving only Draco and the heat between them. Harry relinquished control easily, ever allowing the blond to decide what to do, when to stop. It was always Draco who would eventually stop, always Draco who would burrow himself into Harry’s arms and perhaps fall asleep there, depending on the hour. Though, given that it was a saturday afternoon, he’d not done so yet. Harry loved feeling the Slytherin so pliant against him, comfortable like he felt safe, like he  _ was  _ safe. 

“What will you do when she’s caught?” Harry asked into the quiet, daring to voice his thoughts. He’d found himself worrying about Bellatrix far more often now Draco was his to worry for. And the idea that she’d somehow find them was not the only fear Harry had. 

Draco disentangled himself, balancing on his elbows to meet Harry’s eyes. “You mean to ask if I’ll go home.”

Harry stared at the empty space just beyond the Slytherin. He’d not gotten the nerve to ask before now, unwilling to risk the answer that might ruin him. “Will you?” 

“If by home, you mean going directly to my mum to tell her how very much I’ve missed her and apologise for being such a rotten, spoilt brat of a son, then absolutely,” said Draco, pragmatic. “However, if you’re asking if I plan to return to London, then… no.” 

Harry’s eyes widened in surprise. “Why?” 

“Because you wouldn’t come with me,” Draco answered simply.

The brunet stared, trying to keep the full force of his relief at bay. “But… you never really decided to come here. Don’t you miss it all?” 

“You’ve mates across the pond, too, and just because you miss them doesn’t mean you’ll go back, does it?” Draco pointed out. “It’ll be nice to speak to everyone again, of course, but all that’s waiting for me there beyond my handful of friends is a reputation I’ve come to no longer want.” 

“So you’d stay,” Harry said, a smile now breaking across his face, “with me.” 

“As long as you’d have me.” 

“I’d kiss you again but I don’t fancy missing dinner,” Harry admitted, and Draco chuckled before leaning in to place one last light peck on Harry’s lips, then standing to stretch his muscles. It was an enticing sight. 

“Really was as barking as they come, wasn’t she?” he commented a moment later.

Harry lifted his gaze back to Draco’s face at the words. “What? Who?” 

The blond glanced pointedly at the ground, where Victoria’s notebook had fallen open on the floor. Harry blinked at the large, chaotic scrawl he could easily make out from where he sat. 

It spanned two entire pages, ignoring the crease between entirely, the letters a violent disturbance against the white of the page. They were carved so forcefully the quill seemed to of punctured through in several places. 

The writing was underlined several times in places, and described the unbridled torture she obviously wished she could inflict on her lover’s brother. Harry cringed at what she’d planned to do to said brother’s son. 

“Everything all right?” Draco asked slowly, obviously having cottoned on to Harry’s bewilderment. 

It didn’t make sense, the brunet thought. He recalled Victoria as having bored him, nothing more than a young woman too prejudice to love properly. The display before him indicated she might’ve simply snapped between one day and the next. 

“I’m not certain,” he admitted, bending down to pick the ledger from the floor. The page, he discovered, wasn’t the last, though the next seemed to show no signs of the previous extreme vehemence, save the carefully avoided puncture marks. 

 

**_Mother,_ **

 

**_I’ve no doubt that you shall be the first to locate this journal. I’ll not make any apologies to you, as there is no purpose for the dead to tell untruths. I am not remorseful for what I must now do, or have done. As you’ve been through these pages, you know of my greatest secret. I was in love with Atticus Rowle, who was indeed brought into this world a Squib._ **

**_What you do not know and doubtless will never come to believe regardless of my word is that my Atticus was a brilliant man, a man who would have accomplished what none before him had been able to, had he not been murdered for his efforts. Axel has claimed to all who will listen to have forced his brother aboard a ship set for the colonies, the shame of his failed attempt to become a wizard supposedly having been too heavy to bear. I know better than to believe those righteous lies. Atticus would not have left me. He is dead, and I will join him soon. First, I must make Axel pay for what he has done._ **

**_If there is one thing you taught me well, Mother, it is vengeance. At least in that, I can perhaps make you proud._ **

 

**_Victoria_ **

  
  


A picture was beginning to form in Harry’s mind, nagging at him to put it together. He flipped backwards, to the last normal entry that Victoria had written prior to her vicious outburst, and began to read again. 

  
  


**_Dearest Diary,_ **

 

**_I am afraid. Atticus has entrusted me with his future, with his findings, but he cannot perform the magic himself. It falls, then, to me. I am all he has, the only person to whom he would dare reveal his genius. And it is not that I care for Axel, I have no particular love for that man. He does not deserve his magic any more than Atticus, it is only right that Atticus take back what should always have been his. I fear only that the spell, being untested, will result in failure, and that Axel’s wrath in face of our attempted thievery will be dire._ **

**_Atticus vows that he will protect me, that all will be well. I must, therefore, have faith in him. But I cannot deny my fear._ **

  
  


“He was a Squib,” Harry said quietly. 

Draco was still standing beside his bed, watching as Harry continued leafing through pages, seeing it all anew. 

“He was a Squib,” Harry repeated, looking up at Draco with wide eyes, “and he tried to become a wizard… by stealing his brother’s magic.” 

Harry watched the dawn of comprehension break across Draco’s face. “You don’t think…” 

The Gryffindor nodded and, to his complete bemusement, Draco turned and rushed from the room. When he returned nearly fifteen minutes later, it was with a large, familiar tome in his grasp. 

Draco dropped  _ Ancient Creatures and Why They’re No More  _ on the bed before Harry, and immediately set to locating a particular passage. He pointed to an entry, and Harry recognised it. 

_ Kachol Succubi.  _

“Read where it says legends and myth,” Draco ordered, breathless. 

_ “There are remnants,”  _ read Harry, _ “of ancient lore that suggest these creatures may originate from wizard kind, similar to the no-maj legends of Wendigos and how cannibalism could create a monster from a human being. It was once proposed that any wizard who somehow consumed the magic of another would thus turn themselves into a Kachol, damned to survive on this consumption of magic for the remainder of their existence—cannibalism, if you will. This is, of course, ludicrous—”  _

“Ludicrous or not,” interrupted Draco, “the legend alone may of convinced him it was possible. Victoria claims that Atticus bloke found a way to remove someone’s magic, didn’t she?” 

Harry stared at him. “You’re saying that he tried to… eat it?” 

“How else would he of tried to get it inside him?” Draco asked. “He had no power. He needed an accomplice even for the attempt.” 

“She thinks he was killed for it,” Harry said, “but she does say his brother claimed he was banished to the colonies. To America.” 

“I’d bet all the gold in my family vault that it was the truth,” Draco asserted. “He came here, he eventually managed to work it all out successfully, and then he wrote it down for posterity. All this time we’ve assumed that whoever’s been taking magic from the students was using it for something, a ritual or some sort of creation. A sacrifice, perhaps. I never once considered that they might be trying to enhance their own ability. A transference like that simply isn’t possible.” 

“Our thief has his work,” Harry realised. “Whoever it is, they’re connected to him somehow.” 

Draco looked grave. “The Rowle’s were an old, sacred family,” he said. “There must be record of his particular line somewhere, all we have to do is find it.” 

 

‘&’

Joshua was in the infirmary. Harry, Draco, and the remainder of their group were all huddled outside of it, waiting for permission to enter. The nurse _ — _ a robust, no nonsense woman named Miss Donnelly who had once patched up Harry and Draco _ — _ was bustling about Joshua and Matthew’s separate beds, loudly chastising them both while she worked to correct the injuries they’d each inflicted on the other. 

Harry felt a spot of deja vu, knowing Draco felt the same. They shared a rueful glance, smiling at their memories. 

Joshua had been in a particularly foul mood for the past two weeks, ever since Averie had discovered his using her to anger her older brother. The younger girl hadn’t liked that very much, and had made it known with her rather impressive right hook, at the time saving Matthew the job. 

The mounting tension had culminated to an all out fight between the two boys earlier in the day, smack in the middle of the season’s first Quodpot match. Being co-captains, the Head of House had been required to break it up, after considerable damage had already been done. Joshua’s right arm had been at an odd angle when Professor Clark had angrily escorted him off the field, Matthew in tow, heavily limping. Both boys faces had been split, Matthew’s eye on its way to closing. Thunderbird had, quite obviously, lost the match, to put it mildly. 

No one was too happy with Joshua at present; Maria looked ready to throttle him as soon as she was allowed close enough. Cosima, Celine, and Edgar all wore similarly bored yet unsurprised expressions. 

“Neither of them can leave until the skelegrow has set, have at it,” said Miss Donnelly, and Maria raced into the room, Harry and the rest trailing behind. 

“If you weren’t already in the infirmary Josh– !” Maria started. 

“Hi Matt,” Cosima said cheerfully, a pointed reminder to Maria about his presence. 

“Save it, Mari,” said Joshua, bland. 

“No, you know what,” she replied, “I’ve had enough.” 

Everyone eyed her warningly, but she ignored them all, turning promptly to Matthew. “What is your problem, Matt?” 

_ “My  _ prob– !?” started the boy. 

“Mari!” barked Joshua. 

“No I wanna know,” she said, sounding altogether reasonable. “I wanna hear in  _ his  _ words why he hates you so much, because in case you didn’t know, Quodpot is both of your entire lives, and you just completely trashed your record just to beat each other senseless. So I want an explanation.” 

“News flash, Mari, just because you got your girl and those two idiots,” he waved towards Harry and Draco, “got their shit together, doesn’t mean you’re suddenly a fucking oracle. For once, mind your own goddamn business.” 

“You  _ are  _ my business!” she shrieked then. “You’re  _ my  _ best friend you stupid piece of shit!” 

That effectively silenced Joshua. After a long moment wherein the two stared each other down, he folded his arms and grumbled something that sounded like ‘fine.’

They all turned again to Matthew, who was beginning to resemble a deer in the headlights. “Um,” he said.  

“Mister Malfoy,” interrupted Miss Donnelly as she re-entered the room. 

Draco startled from where he stood beside Harry. “Yes ma’am?” 

“Mister Malfoy come to Headmaster office right now,” said a small Pukwudgie creature from beside the nurse’s robes. “I take you there.” 

Draco looked to Harry in a moment of shared confusion, before mumbling that he’d be back and following obediently after the creature. Harry missed a lot of the conversation after that, his mind busy worrying about the Slytherin being called away. Unlike at Hogwarts, Headmaster Fontaine wasn’t the type to bring students in for a nice spot of tea and a biscuit. Something must’ve happened, and the options running through Harry’s mind were far from good ones. 

He was forced to tune back in to the present, however, when Matthew began shouting. “ _ — _ little fucking sister to a fucking Ball for what?! To make me jealous?! Like I’m not jealous enough all the time ‘cause I’m the fucking  _ tool  _ that can’t get over you!” 

At that, there was about five seconds of uninterrupted silence. 

“Aaaand that’s our cue, out we go,” Celine said, promptly shooing everyone else out of the room. Maria was hauled out with a satisfied smile on her face. 

By dinner, Matthew was sat at Joshua’s side, lightly drawing absent patterns on the skin of his palm. Harry had never known Joshua to look so at ease, the usually tense set of his shoulders relaxed for the first time in as long as Harry’d known him. 

Harry was glad for them both, of course, but their happiness couldn’t distract him from the fact that Draco still hadn’t reappeared. 

He’d only made a small dent in his food, too worried for his stomach to truly accept anything, when someone behind him said, “Hey, uh, Harry?”

The Gryffindor turned to find Kyle and another of his dorm mates, a boy named Corey, standing there. 

“Yeah?” he asked. It wasn’t that it was odd to speak to them, they shared his dorm, after all, so he saw them all the time. Only that it was, a bit, because, unlike at Hogwarts, these boys weren’t really Harry’s friends. They were just people who had beds in the same room as he did, and who he had to share a bathroom with. 

“We thought we should come and tell you,” began Corey, “we just came back from the dorm and, uh, your boyfriend’s there but… he doesn’t seem, like, okay.” 

“Something’s wrong with him,” said Kyle. “We don’t know what, but you might want to–”

Harry didn’t hear the rest of what the boy said, he was already out of his seat and off towards Thunderbird. He barreled through the common room in a flash, uncaring about the surprised looks shot his way. He needed to get to Draco. 

Harry found the blond sitting on the edge of his bed, his legs pulled up towards his chest. He had his arms wrapped around them, face hidden between his knees. He didn’t react at all to Harry’s entrance. 

“Draco?” 

Nothing, save a slight tightening of the hold he had around his legs. Harry had been hovering at the door, but now cautiously moved forward until he was standing only a handful of feet away. 

“Draco, what’s wrong?” Harry asked quietly, a nameless dread curling in his gut. 

“I love you.” 

Harry’s breath caught in his throat at the admission. He would have been shocked to hear those words on the best of days, he thought, given how short a time they’d been together—history aside. But it was the way it was said that he’d never have been prepared for, that had his heart sinking towards the floor. Draco had spoken as if answering he was Harry’s question. 

“And that’s… wrong?” Harry could hear the fear in his own voice, more afraid than he could ever remember being. He wanted to come closer, to pull Draco into his arms and promise him that whatever was causing this would be all right, that  _ they’d  _ be all right. But he had no way to know that was true just then.

Draco looked up at him. His eyes were red rimmed, shining in a way that brought out the flecks of cobalt blue among the grey. Harry’s heart nearly broke at the devastation in them. 

“My mother is going to die,” Draco whispered. It was a broken, bewildered statement, like he didn’t quite believe it and was trying to convince himself. Trying to accept the horror of it because he had no choice. 

“Bellatrix,” realised Harry. 

Draco flinched at the name, and it was confirmation enough. “It’s almost funny,” said Draco, sounding hollowed, “she wasn’t going to give me any sort of chance. She only wanted to gloat, have a bit of fun forcing us to say goodbye. But then I said–” he cut off, visibly regrouping. “I said that I would do anything.  _ Anything.  _ And I meant it.” He stared at Harry, tears in his eyes. “I meant it,” he repeated quietly, “and then she asked for  _ you.”  _

Harry stopped breathing.

“It really is funny,” Draco said again, “she probably thought it would be easy for me. Lure my schoolboy rival out of bounds, hand you over, get my mother in return. Simple enough, isn’t it? More than a fair trade.” 

The Gryffindor could only stand still while Draco stared at some point behind him. 

“I considered it,” Draco confessed, the words choked. “I tried to convince myself to do it. I sat here and I tried so hard, but I couldn’t. And I never could have because I  _ love  _ you. I’ve loved you for so long, longer than I could even tell you. I lied, you should know. I lied when I told you that I hated you because you didn’t want to be my friend, because you’d humiliated me. They were true once but then… I hated you because I  _ wanted you  _ while you despised me and I despise myself for wanting you.” 

“Draco,” Harry breathed, unable to find the words. He forced himself to move, to do what he’d wanted to do immediately. He sat beside the blond and wrapped him in his arms. Draco curled into Harry, his emotion overwhelming the brunet. 

Harry wished desperately that this had gone differently, that he could have kissed Draco and held him close and admitted that he loved him back in his own time. But he couldn’t, not now. They’d been robbed of that. 

“Midnight,” Draco whispered a bit later, his voice raw. “When I’m not there to toss you at her feet...” 

He didn’t finish, didn’t have to. 

“Your mum’s not going to die, Draco,” Harry assured him quietly. “I promised you that I wouldn’t let that happen, don’t you remember?” 

The blond pulled back, met his eyes. “There’s nothing you can do.” 

“She wants me,” disagreed Harry. “And that’s what we’re going to give her.” 

“No,” said Draco, his puffy eyes going wide with panic. “Didn’t you hear me? I can’t do it. I  _ won’t.  _ I won’t let you.” 

“And I’m not going to let her kill your mum,” Harry told him.  

“I’m not going to let her kill  _ you!”  _

“It doesn’t have to be one or the other,” said Harry. “We just need to have a plan.” 

 

‘&’ 

 

About a half hour later, each of their group along with Matthew—because he refused to allow Joshua to be involved in something dangerous if he wasn’t—were all stood in the corridor, staring at Harry and Draco with a row of identical expressions. In every face was complete bewilderment, and, of course, horror. 

It was Maria who finally broke the silence.  _ “What?” _

Draco sighed. 

He had come back to life after Harry had convinced him they could do this, allowing new determination to drive him. Now he had settled into a lethal calm, wholly focused. “My psychotic aunt is going to kill my mother and we need all of your help to save her,” he said. 

“You said that,” Celine said, shaking off her own shock. “But you haven’t said  _ how  _ you know this, or anything about  _ why.”  _

So Draco began to explain, as simply as was possible to put it, how he’d been called into the Headmaster’s office earlier in order to have a fire-call with his mum through the Floo. He told them all how he’d known immediately something was wrong, because his mum had decided they shouldn’t remain in contact while he was at school. The pity reflected on their friend’s faces was obvious at that, but the blond ignored it and continued on about how he’d therefore requested Fontaine leave the office to allow Draco privacy. When the call had begun, it hadn’t been his mother’s voice that had greeted him. 

Draco skipped over his break down, sounding detached as he explained why Bellatrix would want her sister dead, which admittedly didn’t make much sense from a rational perspective. But Bellatrix was hardly rational. 

“But now she wants Harry?” asked Cosima, obviously doing her best to keep up. 

“She has a vendetta against Harry because he killed the Dark—Voldemort, who was her master and likely the love of her deranged existence.” 

“But me and mine weren’t realistic targets to come after on her own,” explained Harry. “And she hates her sisters enough that she wasn’t willing to risk anything suicidal when she had other… er, goals. If this hadn’t fallen into her lap, there’s a chance she might’ve simply left me to the other Death Eaters on the loose.”

“Death Eaters?” Matthew repeated. He was probably the person with the least background information, and Harry didn’t blame him for his confusion. Not that the others knew all that much more than he did, really. Harry regretted how little of his past he’d been willing to share with his friends. 

“Voldemort’s followers are called that. They’re sick, tw–” Harry broke off suddenly, remembering himself and looking at Draco. “Sorry.”

The blond set his jaw at all their questioning glances. “My father was one, as well,” he admitted to them tightly. 

Maria stared at Harry, obviously remembering what Harry had hinted at in regards to his and Draco’s history several weeks ago. In her eyes was the realisation that it was worse than she’d thought. 

“Regardless,” Draco finally went on, “I gave my aunt an opportunity and she’s toying with me, trying for two birds with one stone, most likely. She’s demented, but vicious and strategic. And she has the upper hand, because she’s nothing to lose and I do.” 

“Why aren’t we going to the staff with this?” Edgar demanded, speaking up for the first time. 

Draco gave him an impatient look. “Yes, of course, that sounds like a lovely way to get my mother killed faster,” he snapped. Harry put a hand on his shoulder, and Draco blew out a breath. “Because,” he answered, only marginally calmer, “the staff would never allow Harry or myself to deliberately put ourselves in danger, but that’s what we have to do.” 

“Question, just so I’m sure,” Joshua said, “we’re trying to kill the bitch, right?” 

Harry and Draco both blinked at him, and then exchanged glances. “Er,” said Harry. 

“If we can, we should,” Draco answered bluntly.

“Draco–” began Harry, but the blond cut him off. 

“She’s already escaped Azkaban, Harry,” he reminded him. “The Dementors were going to kiss her, as it was.”

Harry couldn’t exactly argue with that, and it wasn’t as though he wanted Bellatrix to live. The thought of being the cause of another death, though, made him nauseous. He tried to push it away, forcing himself to nod assent. 

Draco eyes softened. “We’ll try to take her down the non-lethal way first, okay?” 

Harry looked at him gratefully. Even with everything that was going on, Draco understood him. Godric, but he couldn’t lose this. 

“Um, Harry,” Cosima interrupted, her voice wary, “it isn’t that we don’t want to help. But what could me and Cel even do? We can’t cast spells.” 

Harry was unable to meet her eyes, hating himself for the danger he and Draco were putting her in. “Bellatrix doesn’t know that,” he admitted to her quietly. 

“So,” Celine said, blunt, “we have to pretend like we’re a threat and hope she doesn’t call us on it, is what you’re saying.” 

“I’m sorry to ask this of you,” Draco murmured, “sorry that I  _ have  _ to.” 

Celine reached forward and hugged him. It was strange for Harry to realise that at another time, in a different place, that sight might’ve have made him jealous. There was nothing like that now, only gratitude for the girl. “It’s okay,” she assured Draco. 

“So what  _ is _ the plan?” asked Maria. 

Harry and Draco told them. There was no shortage of objections, of course. But this gave them their best chance. 

Afterwards, the wait for midnight was agonising. Harry watched as Draco paced, casting  _ tempus  _ every few minutes and reassuring himself aloud over and over again. His fear was a tangible thing, felt easily by them all. Harry tried to keep his own at bay, but he couldn’t stop his mind dwelling on all the ways tonight could end. 

Finally, when only fifteen minutes remained, Draco faced them all. “Thank you,” he said simply. “No matter how this ends, thank you.” 

They each nodded, and then Joshua and Matthew each cast a disillusionment charm over themselves and were gone.

Maria’s and Edgar’s wands were clenched tightly in their hands. “See you on the other side,” Maria said, her voice just a bit too tight, and then they cast their charms and left as well. 

Cosima took a moment to hug first Harry, and then Draco, apologising that there wasn’t more she could do for them, and wishing them luck before she threw Harry’s invisibility cloak over herself and left on silent feet.

Draco turned to Harry, his grey eyes a kaleidoscope of emotion. “I want you to know that I meant what I said earlier,” he promised. “I love you. What we have to say to each other out there changes nothing.” 

Unable to find the words he wanted, needed, Harry leaned in and kissed Draco hard. It didn’t last long enough. 

“We’re all going to be okay,” Harry assured him one last time. 

“All right,” said the Slytherin. “Let’s go.” 

 

‘&’ 

 

Acting as though restrained when, in fact, he was not, was more difficult for Harry than it had seemed it would be. His arms were supposedly bound behind his back, his spine held straight and tense. His wand was hidden from view, but within his reach, digging into his lower back. Celine’s useless wand was pointed at the back of his skull. 

Harry wasn’t altogether brilliant with fear, and knowing he wasn’t actually helpless made it even harder to feign. He had to keep up the act the entire way out, because there was no telling where Bellatrix would have chosen to wait. She wouldn’t reveal herself until they’d left the wards, but she was doubtless already watching them. 

The night air was brisk, cold even for November, mountain wind howling through the trees all about them. 

Draco had been speaking the whole time, sounding like he had months ago, his voice posh and superior. It made Harry’s heart ache as he knew it would, even as he growled insults back at him. 

“—not as if you can blame me, Potter. You or my mother? That was hardly going to come up in your favour.” 

“You shouldn’t bother justifying yourself to him Draco,” said Celine nastily, “it’s a waste of breath anyway.” 

That was why they’d chosen Celine for this, despite the bluff of it. The look of her, her upbringing, all of it meant that Celine knew how to behave like a prejudiced pureblood, how to sound like one. She was the only one that would hold any potential value in Bellatrix’s eyes. 

That didn’t mean Harry had to like it. 

“Quiet,” Draco hissed at her, sounding remarkably like his father. Harry fought back a shiver at the thought. 

Celine visibly pouted, but fell silent, obedient as they’d discussed.

Harry felt the exact moment that they passed through the wardings. The space around him became thick like jelly, only for a split second, before the constriction faded. And then they were on the outside. The Gryffindor was certain that making the return trip would not be as easy. 

Their friends were positioned somewhere out in the night, still and invisible, waiting for the right moment to attack. Harry prayed he’d be able to do what he needed before his friends were forced to put themselves into even more danger. 

And then they appeared. 

Two figures, about ten feet before them, sprung into existence seemingly from nowhere. One, Harry would know anywhere. 

The sight of her was revolting, her skin sallow and sunken in to her bones. Large, black eyes glittered like a shark’s as they stared at him. Her smile was ear to ear, two rows of rotted teeth on display. Her black hair hung in matted strings from her head. She looked delighted, her hand eagerly gripping her crooked wand. 

Beside her stood Narcissa Malfoy. She looked nothing like Harry had ever seen her, usually immaculate and beautiful. Instead, her blonde hair was tangled, framing a hollow face. She was far too thin, as though she’d been malnourished for days, possibly weeks. Harry realised there was no telling how long her sister had kept her before becoming bored enough to toy with Draco. 

Worse, still, were her eyes. They were entirely empty. She stared ahead, no hint of recognition in her gaze. She stood ramrod straight, as though ready to move at a moment’s notice but entirely uninterested in doing so. Harry heard Draco catch his breath when he noticed it. Draco had told him, bragged even, about his mother’s talent for mind magic. She was far too strong to be Imperiused, he’d said. But after weeks of torture and starvation, by a sister who likely knew her better than anyone? It was obvious now, Narcissa was completely at Bellatrix’s mercy. 

Harry had to fight to keep the emotion off his face, to avoid looking at Draco. 

“Ah Nephew,” said Bellatrix, “you look well.” 

“Can’t say the same,” Draco spit back. 

Bellatrix laughed, a peel of childish giggles. “And who’s this?” she asked, her eyes now on Celine. 

“Celine Moore,” replied Celine with a poison smile, “it’s a displeasure to meet you.” 

“Don’t speak to her,” Draco barked. Celine locked her jaw, lips twisted. 

Bellatrix, as they’d predicted, looked quite entertained. “Ah, you are your father’s son. Look Cissy, aren’t you proud?” 

Narcissa, of course, made no reply. 

Bellatrix turned back. “You are a pretty little thing, aren’t you,” she said to Celine, then paused, eyes locked on the younger girl’s face. “Rather familiar, too.”  

Draco released an impatient growl. “Enough dallying,” he said. “This is about my mother. We’re here for a trade, not to have a chat.”

Bellatrix’s eyes shifted back to Draco, narrowed, her smile becoming a threat all its own. “Very well. Cissy,” she said sweetly, “go fetch Potter for me, won’t you.” 

Narcissa’s movements were jerky, stiff as she got closer to them. Draco seemed all but paralysed as he watched his mother grab onto Harry’s arm and haul him away. Harry didn’t fight as hard as he could, only enough to make it look good, deliberately keeping his arms behind his back. Soon enough, he was tossed at the feet of Bellatrix Lestrange. 

A long moment passed in which they simply eyed each other, Bellatrix looking incredibly pleased. 

“Now let my mother go!” Draco demanded in a shout. 

Bellatrix smiled wider, her eyes not straying from Harry. “You’re going to be my favourite,” she told him conspiringly. 

Harry had a feeling he knew what sort of favourite she meant. He gripped his wand behind his back, just as she pointed hers at him. 

She must’ve seen the change come over his face, his look of helplessness slipping just enough to give her warning. 

“ _ Expelliarmus!”  _ they shouted, nearly at the same time. But Bellatrix’s wand had already been pointed at him, and he felt her magic wrench his wand from his grasp. His heart dropped like a stone into his stomach, the knowledge that he’d failed overcoming him as she opened her mouth to cast again. 

_ “Crucio!”  _ she screamed, but he’d rolled out of the way in time. 

_ “Immobilus!”  _ yelled Draco, now giving up the act and running towards them. 

Bellatrix dodged the light, casting a spell Harry had never heard towards Draco. He jumped out of the way just in time. 

And then Narcissa was in motion, Bellatrix’s silent commands jerking her in Harry’s direction. She had no wand, but that didn’t matter. Bellatrix didn’t plan for her to live. She was only meant to keep him busy. 

Narcissa closed in on him before he could think, tackling him to the soil. He rolled, working to pin the older woman down, but she was filled with an unnatural sort of strength. 

It was seconds or minutes before he registered that his friends had finally entered the fight. 

Celine had vanished, Cosima thankfully having done her job. But the others had Bellatrix mostly surrounded. Only Maria was on the ground, her hand clutching her side. Harry prayed she wasn’t permanently injured, but had to return his focus to counter Narcissa’s vicious attempts to get him down. 

_ “Corporidormio!”  _ Harry heard Bellatrix shreech. He turned his head at the sound of the strange spell, and watched as the three of his friends closest to her dropped like stones. Matthew, Joshua, and Edgar hit the ground in quick succession, forming a circle of bodies at Bellatrix’s feet. 

Maria screamed for them, attempting pitifully to get up despite her legs being clearly out of commission. Bellatrix laughed and pointed her wand at the girl. 

“No!” Harry heard Draco yell. 

_ “Accio  _ … wand!” Harry forced out through Narcissa’s efforts to constrict his lungs. 

He felt his wand hit his palm, and aimed it at her torso. He cast immediately, one of the few almost harmless defense spells he knew. 

Narcissa was blasted off of him, her body hitting the ground a few feet away. Harry didn’t waste time, already up and running towards Draco and Maria. 

Draco had cast a spell at some point, because Bellatrix was several feet away from him now, blood spilling from her stomach. You wouldn’t know it based on her expression, Harry could see her wide, stained smile. 

He and Draco met eyes briefly, and that communication was enough. Harry went for Maria, who looked sickly pale, her eyes barely open. He pulled her away, even as Bellatrix, incredibly, started getting to her feet. 

Harry had to look away to get Maria farther away, and by the time he looked back only seconds later, Draco was stood with his wand pointed at Bellatrix while her wand pressed against a limp Edgar’s throat. “Drop it,” Harry heard her coo at her nephew. 

“Harry,” Cosima’s voice whispered, “we’ve got her. It’s okay.” 

Harry nodded, letting Maria go and twisting to run back towards Draco. But it was far too late. Draco’s wand was now in Bellatrix’s other hand, Edgar’s body tossed back to the ground. 

Harry was not even halfway there before she screamed a spell, and time seemed to slow down all around him. 

_ “Uroaima!”  _ she had screamed. 

It wasn’t long enough for Harry to stop it, to change anything. It was only long enough for him to recognise, to understand. Harry had read that spell, weeks ago, in the very books that had belonged to Bellatrix’s family. They’d worked to translate it. He remembered asking Draco who would be sick enough to invent a spell that would literally boil someone’s blood until their organs melted inside of them. They’d decided that had to be the worst way to die.

Harry remembered all of this, in just a fraction of a second, as he watched the hideous orange light move toward Draco’s chest. Draco, who was not going to move fast enough, either. 

Draco, who Harry loved, and the beginning of the spell formed easily on his lips. 

Harry wasn’t the only one who loved Draco, though. Narcissa did too. Harry had lost track of her after he’d blasted her off of him just minutes before. But she was suddenly, impossibly, there. Right before Harry’s eyes, she threw her body between her sister and her son at the very last possible moment in time. 

And in the same breath as the orange light hit Narcissa, the jet of green light left Harry’s wand. He had said it, he had meant it, and Bellatrix had heard it. 

Too late. 

Her eyes were wide, shock on every feature, as Harry’s Avada Kedavra hit her in the chest. 

And just like that, Bellatrix Lestrange dropped dead. Draco didn’t even look up. He was on the ground at his mother’s side, tears springing into his eyes as he called for her while she jerked and screamed and melted from the inside out. 

It was several long seconds before Harry was able to force himself to move, to walk forward and sit at Draco’s side. There was nothing else that he could do. 

Joshua, Matthew, and Edgar were all still unconscious. There was no telling how long the effect would last. Celine and Cosima had, hopefully, taken Maria to the medical wing and gotten help. 

There was nothing Harry could do but sit with Draco and wait for his mother to die. It was feeble, it was useless, but Harry took Draco’s hand in his. The blond allowed it anyway, gripping tightly as the minutes went by. 

Narcissa’s eyes were open. Even as she twitched and whimpered, she stared at her son. Time passed and her eyes never left Draco’s face, even as they filled with hot blood that scalded her cheeks where it dripped over.

Harry thought about what it must have took, to break through an Imperius in the condition she’d been in. The kind of love for a child, and thought of his own mother. 

“I will take care of him,” Harry told her aloud, “I promise.” 

She didn’t look away from Draco, but she managed to nod. Hot blood was in her mouth, dripping from her ears, her eyes. But she’d nodded. 

And then she’d died. 

They’d both felt it, the precise moment that she was gone. Draco pressed his face to Harry’s chest and shattered. 

 

‘&’ 

 

Maria was alive and healing, that was the first assurance that Harry had received. He and Draco had been found only a handful of minutes after Narcissa had died, by Professor Clark and the younger year’s potions master, Professor Lewis. 

Harry hadn’t offered any resistance as Clark had gently lifted him to his feet. He was only aware that Draco’s hand had fallen from his when Lewis had taken him. 

Others had come after, to revive his friends and to take Narcissa’s body away. He was later told that her skin had burned at the touch, which saved Harry from having to explain how she’d been killed. But he’d still been forced to explain everything else to Fontaine. 

Harry knew that the Headmaster wanted him to express his regret. The staff as a whole had expected him to say that he shouldn’t have done it. But the truth was, he’d had to. If he and his friends hadn’t done what they did, Narcissa would still be dead and Bellatrix would be in the wind again. At least, this way, she’d died too. At least, this way, she couldn’t hurt anyone else. Harry refused to regret that, even if the shadow of what he’d felt when he’d cast the curse hung over him now. The curse was evil, and Harry could still feel the echo in his bones. He’d had to, he reminded himself. He’d  _ had  _ to. 

If only that made him feel any better. 

Nurse Donnelly had given Draco sleep potion to put him out. He was unharmed, physically, but emotionally he was in shock. He needed to sleep, she’d said, and claimed that Harry did as well. Harry had thanked her but refused, sitting instead by Draco’s bed and holding his hand. He could only hope that the blond would sleep for a long time. 

It was around sunrise that Sirius arrived, along with Remus, whose presence was so unexpected that Harry was suddenly far more awake than he’d been. He stood up quietly and left the infirmary, closing the door softly behind him. 

“Remus?” he asked in disbelief. 

“I’ll explain later,” the werewolf assured him. “What matters now is that you’re alright.” 

“We came as soon as the school called us,” Sirius said, looking him over for any injuries despite his having just walked out of an infirmary. “They said you… what happened?” 

Harry couldn’t meet their eyes anymore. “I killed her,” he finally admitted, unable to speak above a whisper. “And it was… easy.” 

They were both quiet for a long moment, and Harry nearly shrunk in on himself. But then arms came around him, holding fast. “I’m sure that you did the only thing that you could,” Sirius told him. 

Harry let go, and slid down the wall to sit on the ground. Sirius and Remus sat on either side of him, and simply listened. Harry told them everything, starting with the first day here, when he’d first seen Draco. He explained why he couldn’t tell them about it, because Draco had thought it would put his mum in danger. And then he told them about everything he couldn’t say through the mirror or in letters, because protecting Draco was more important than talking about falling in love with him. They hadn’t seemed upset by that revelation at all.

When he’d finally explained what had happened tonight, how it had all gone wrong because he’d failed, he’d realised he was crying. 

“I thought he was going to die,” Harry said quietly, “and I just… cast. I didn’t hesitate. And she was dead. I don’t know what I’m supposed to feel. Am I supposed to wonder how I could have  _ meant  _ it. Or am I supposed to hate myself for not doing it earlier. If I’d just done it straight away, Narcissa would still be here, wouldn’t she?” 

“You can’t be sure of that,” Remus replied gently. “You tried to do the right thing, Harry, that is all that can be asked of anyone.” 

Sirius put his hand on his shoulder. “Bellatrix murdered innocent people, Harry, and she would have done it again. You stopped that. Her life was no loss, it’s absolutely nothing to feel ashamed for.” 

Harry nodded into his shoulder, trying to let the words sink in. “What do I do when he wakes up?” he implored them a few minutes later. “He lost his  _ mum.”  _

Sirius sounded sad when he spoke again. “Loss is a part of life, Harry,” he said. “All you can do is be there for him when he needs you.” 

Eventually, Harry pulled back, taking a breath in to get hold of himself. Then he stood and went back inside. 

 

‘&’ 

 

Draco missed a week of classes. He didn’t talk to anyone except for Harry. The others understood, Harry knew, but they worried. Harry did too. Draco hadn’t even told his friends back home where he was yet, even though he no longer had a reason to hide. The only person who knew that Draco was in America was his aunt Andromeda, who was now his legal guardian. Harry had no idea how that was going to work out. All he knew was that it broke his heart to see Draco isolate himself so thoroughly. 

He talked through the mirror with Sirius and Remus every night, keeping them updated with the aftermath. He’d finally learned, when they’d decided he was in a well enough state to tell him, what Lupin was doing in America. Sirius and Remus had been lovers when they were young, and Remus had finally confessed he still felt the same as Sirius did. They were planning to get married. Harry had been completely astonished, but instantly supportive. There was nothing else he’d want for them both than to have their happiness with each other. 

Someone should, after all. 

It was true that Draco still spoke to him, but he didn’t truly look at him. He didn’t touch him or hold him or kiss him. And Harry missed it, even though he understood why. Good intentions aside, Narcissa was dead and Harry could have stopped it. He hadn’t. 

Harry didn’t sleep well anymore. 

When Harry got up on the last Tuesday in November to discover Draco out of bed and putting on his school uniform, he was almost paralysed with surprise. “Draco?” he asked carefully. 

“I’m falling behind,” the blond replied without preamble. “Winter exams are coming up. She wouldn’t want me to fail.” 

Harry forced himself to nod. “Okay,” he said. 

Draco agreed to sit with their friends again, as well. They all eyed him warily, barely focusing on their own food. After several minutes of awkward silence, Draco sighed. “I’m sorry,” he began, addressing them all rather formally, “for my behaviour this past week. I hope none of you imagine I blame anyone but myself for what happened.” 

They all simply stared at him, surprise and fresh pity on every face. 

“Yourself,” Harry repeated after a moment, unable to stop it. 

Draco didn’t look at him, only reached for the jam. “Yes. I don’t want anyone feeling any guilt over–”

Harry grabbed his stretched out arm, effectively cutting him off. Without another word, he pulled the Slytherin forcefully to his feet and dragged him out of the Dining Hall. When he felt he was far enough away from prying ears, he turned to the blond again. 

“Do you honestly blame yourself?” Harry demanded, unsure if he was angry or simply heartbroken. 

The blond stared at the floor. “I was weak,” said Draco bluntly. “There was a moment, I had a chance. I could have killed her but I changed my mind at the last second and I wounded her instead. But it wasn’t enough. If I’d killed her then like I should have, my mum would still be alive.” 

“And if I hadn’t wanted to spare her life in the first place, we could have killed her at the first opportunity,” Harry pointed out. “Or one of our friends could have. If I hadn’t insisted we try for incapacitation, your mum would still be alive. That’s on  _ me,  _ not on you.” 

“Harry.” 

“You know that I’m right,” Harry insisted. 

“I know that you did what I couldn’t do,” Draco replied fiercely. “You think I don’t realise what I did to you? You  _ killed  _ for me. It was the last thing in the world that you wanted, but you did it anyway because I was weak and I forced you–”

“Stop,” Harry ordered strongly. “Bellatrix deserved to die. Yes, I hate that I had to cast that curse. But I would do it again, and I would do it sooner if I could. I’m so sorry that I didn’t. I know it’s my fault things have changed for us.” 

Draco blinked at him, whatever he’d been planning to say apparently derailed. “Changed… for us…” he repeated slowly, as though the words tasted odd in his mouth. He searched Harry’s eyes for several long moments. “Salazar,” he finally breathed. “You thought that because you didn’t, that I…?” 

Harry simply looked at him. 

“You are the last person in the world that I blame,” Draco said viciously. “Do you understand? I  _ love  _ you. You are the only … I need you.” 

It was Harry’s turn to drop his eyes to the floor. “You haven’t… I thought you needed space between us, because of what happened.” 

At that, Draco was apparently finished with words. Harry didn’t have time to think before lips pressed hard against his. He immediately relaxed into it, letting his eyes fall closed. Draco hadn’t kissed him since that night, and having him again, if only in this moment, was glorious. The blond’s mouth continued to move insistently against his, as though saying what he couldn’t express aloud. 

After a time that was nowhere near long enough, they separated. Draco pressed his forehead to Harry’s, just like he used to all the time, and the Gryffindor’s heart soared further. 

“I’m sorry I made you think I was blaming you, for the distance, for everything,” Draco said, voice quiet. “I need you more than anything now. You have no idea how much.” 

“I love you, too,” Harry whispered, finally voicing it now he could. He didn’t want to wait any longer. 

Draco’s eyes lit up, and he gifted Harry the smallest, most brilliant of smiles. It felt like a sort of miracle. 

 

‘&’ 

 

“We should continue our search,” Draco said a couple of days later, during Care of Magical Creatures. It was the first practical they’d had in a very long time, meant to prepare them for their semester examination. Naturally, Harry and Draco had partnered for it. They were working with baby Snallygasters—a dragon-like bird creature that grew into threatening adults—learning how to effectively bind them if ever necessary, before they were big enough to be a real threat. 

Harry looked up at Draco in surprise, wincing when his charm failed and the baby creature hissed at him. “Oh,” he said. “I’d forgotten about that.” 

They’d been a bit busy, is what neither of them said. “We were really very close,” replied Draco. “All we need to do is find the modern day Rowle bloodline, and we’ll probably have our thief. Don’t you still want to find them?” 

“Of course,” Harry assured him. “I just think we should… be more cautious now. The thief could be dangerous.” 

_ And I can’t risk losing you again,  _ Harry didn’t add aloud. But he could see that Draco understood. 

“After classes then,” said the blond. “We’ll have to see if Edgar knows anything about how to start looking for records like that. He fancies that sort of thing.” 

Harry smiled. “Yeah, he does.” 

And they proved quite right. Edgar was all too happy when they asked him. “Lots of people go looking for their family history,” the Horned Serpent was saying as he lead them to the library. “Though mostly halfbloods, since the majority of purebloods already know everything there is to know about their bloodline, and there isn’t a whole lot recorded that’s not pureblood lineage. So halfbloods go looking for that side of their parentage all the time, even if it’s been a few generations. People just like to know, you know?” 

Harry and Draco nodded along as Edgar spoke, all three of them waving to Mrs. Ramirez as they passed through the first floor. 

“It’s all in alphabetical order,” Edgar went on. “But within that, usually the bigger deals come first. Like the lines of pureblood presidents, a lot of congressmen and such. Government officials can be really big on the whole My Lineage Makes Me Better Than You thing; they like it to be public record how much Better they are.” 

Harry and Draco went down the row towards the R’s, wondering if it could really be that simple. But, of course, it wasn’t. 

“Who are you guys looking for, anyway?” Edgar asked eventually, having gotten bored of watching them sit and search through so many random family’s records. They were settling in to remain in a new section as long as it took when he posed the question. 

“The Rowle’s,” Harry said without looking up. 

“Oh,” said Edgar. It was his tone gave Harry pause. He and Draco looked up to find the Horned Serpent headed to their right, stopping in front of the M’s and N’s. He pulled a record from the first row and returned to them. “Uh, here,” he said, and handed it to Draco. 

The blond immediately started flipping through, but Harry was stuck on the way Edgar had sounded. It was as if they had confused him with the surname. “How did you know that’s where it was?” Harry questioned. 

Again, Edgar looked at him like he was being strange. “I mean, we all do,” he said, in a manner that suggested he was really saying  _ duh _ . “I just don’t really get why you wouldn’t just ask her. She would tell you anything that book can. Could probably list the whole family tree by heart.” 

“What?” said Harry. Something very like dread was settling in him, though he didn’t entirely understand why. 

Edgar opened his mouth to reply, but didn’t get the chance before Draco breathed out in horror. “Merlin and Morgana.” 

He raised his head from the open page before him, eyes meeting Harry’s. And suddenly, that one look was the catalyst. A million things ran through Harry’s mind, flashes of memories all inexplicably coming together in an instant. 

 

_ …knew that voice, somehow, only he couldn’t recall where he’d ever heard it. It was light and throaty…  _ _   
_ _   
_ _ …very few like actual purebloods in America, it has to be worse for her…  _ _   
_ _   
_ __ …a pureblood without any magic, a disgrace! You’re not welcome… 

_   
_ _ …record of her existence sealed…  _

_   
_ _ … not the mini Mrs. Moore I was expecting…   _ _   
_ _   
_ __ …are a pretty little thing, aren’t you. Rather familiar, too… 

 

Somehow, Harry walked over to where Draco sat, and looked down at the depiction of a family tree laid out in front of him. In black and white, final as an execution, a line traced from an Atticus J. Rowle all the way down to a Vivianne Alexia Moore. And beneath that, a small box labeled, simply, N/A.


	6. Chapter 6

“Guys?” Edgar asked. “What’s going on?” 

“Circe,” said Harry. It was all he could manage. 

After what felt like an eternity suspended in horrified comprehension, Draco set his shoulders, and faced Edgar. “Where is Celine?” 

“Our common room, last I saw her?” he responded, like it was a question. He was bewildered, and Harry felt a pang in his chest. They’d all trusted her so completely. What would this do to them? 

But Draco was already off. Harry could do nothing but dash after him. His mind was still racing, wondering how he could have missed it. How they all could have. 

Too soon, they were there, and Draco was yelling for Celine, hollering his demands that she let them in. The portrait was decidedly not pleased. 

It was Cosima that eventually opened the door, thoroughly taken aback by the way Draco immediately shoved through her. Harry followed him, his hand reaching for Cosima to push her behind him instead of allowing her forward.

Celine was sitting on the L portion of the sofa, eyes big and confused as Draco stopped a handful of feet from her. 

There were several others in the room to start, but they had quickly taken in the scene and vacated, heading towards their respective dorms or past Harry to get out. 

He watched as Celine noted first Harry’s defensive position, then Draco’s eyes, and, slowly, her face seemed to shift. “Oh,” she said, and sighed. “Well, damn.” 

“Damn,” agreed Draco flatly. 

The blonde girl pursed her lips, her vibrant eyes locked on Draco’s. Her wand was in her hand, and it was confirmation enough. Harry knew it was not a useless piece of wood. It hadn’t been for a long time. 

“What the hell is going on?!” Cosima demanded in a sudden shout. 

And Harry used the distraction to lift his own wand.  _ “Legilimens!” _

Celine didn’t have time to Occlude against him, if she even knew how, and Harry fell straight into her mind. He stood in an unfamiliar dungeon, a stone staircase to the left of him leading upwards to places unseen. A small body hovered horizontally in the air before him; Harry recognised Cosima immediately despite her youth. Her thickly curled hair was the same as in the present, her face only slightly less defined. She appeared to be asleep, arms loose against her sides and features relaxed.    
As Harry watched, a severe looking woman with familiar, remarkable blue eyes strode from down a staircase in the wall and into the room, trailed by a small girl Harry knew was a young Celine.    
Her eyes showed no surprise at the sight of her friend, small face entirely impassive.    
“I do hope you’ve been paying attention,” said the elder woman, unforgiving.    
“Of course mother.”    
The girl’s voice sent a chill down Harry’s spine. It was empty of any feeling, blue eyes holding all the warmth of ice.    
“Then you should be looking at  _ me,”  _ her mother ordered, and Celine obediently dragged her gaze to her. 

The congresswoman pointed her wand at Cosima’s inert form. There was no hesitation, no feeling at all in her voice when she said, “ _ Anima klevo!”  _

For a moment, nothing happened. And then Harry gasped, unable to look away as a glowing crimson light lit the surface of Cosima’s skin, brightly concentrating in her chest and traveling slowly up her throat. Her full lips parted, the minute, gleaming orb exiting through her mouth to rise in the air above her.    
“Open your mouth darling,” said Celine’s mother.    
Harry stared, stricken, as Celine obediently consumed that scarlet bright diamond that was Cosima’s magic. Vivianne Moore smiled a terrible smile.    
“Now,” she said calmly, “obliviate her.”    
The young Celine held her wand in trepidation. “But I can’t do magic, mom.”    
“You can do enough now,” the older woman snapped. “So do as you are told.”    
Celine lifted a small, pale arm.  _ “Obliviate.”  _   
For several seconds, the girl simply stared at her wand in awe, evidently having felt the magic work. Then she dropped it as though it burnt, screaming in terror as the flesh of her arm slowly shaded blue, overtaken by glinting, reptile-like scales.    
She collapsed to her knees, staring up at her mum with eyes that were the same glowing red as Cosima’s magic had been. It was a horrifying sight. 

“Control yourself!” barked Vivianne sharply, sounding as though she were speaking to a poorly trained animal. “It’ll be gone in minutes as long as you don’t think to perform more magic whenever you want. Now come along, we have far more work to do if you’re ever going to be my daughter again.” 

Celine shakily got to her feet, gripping her wand like it would protect her, and cast one last glance at Cosima’s body before turning to follow her mother back up the stone steps.    
The memory came to an end as Harry was forced out of the blonde’s mind. He stared into glacial blue eyes, searching for something he knew he’d not find. 

Celine was up and across the room in milliseconds, her wand pointed at Harry’s throat. “I should kill you for that,” she hissed. 

Draco grabbed her free arm and yanked her off and away from him. “Like hell,” he spit. 

Celine sneered at him coldly, and Harry couldn’t help his thought that it looked fundamentally wrong.  _ “Expelliarmus!”  _ she yelled, and the strength of the single spell pulled every wand—Harry’s, Draco’s, even Cosima’s, came racing at her. She didn’t try to catch them, instead letting them hit the wall behind her and drop. 

She had at least five people’s worth of magic inside of her, Harry realised at once. And it was magic that she almost never used. He didn’t even want to guess at how dangerous she might be if she cast the wrong spell. He stepped in front of Draco and the others immediately, forcing Celine’s attention onto him alone. 

But Celine had performed magic, and it was becoming very obvious what the consequences of that were. Her eyes were now the same glowing red they’d been in the memory, every bit of visible skin slowly shading into a scaley blue as she stared at them. 

If Harry hadn’t been looking for signs, he wondered if he would’ve been able to tell that she was in pain. But it was clear, in the slight twitch of her arm as she pointed her wand at his chest, the sweat gathering on her cobalt forehead, and the barest quiver of her knee. This transformation hurt quite a bit. 

“Cel?” Cosima asked at last, her voice small and disbelieving. Betrayed. 

Celine spared her a cold glance, before dismissing her entirely, her eyes shifting to Draco. “How did you know?” she demanded. 

“Your ancestor,” Harry answered for him, trying to pull her attention back. “He did the same thing.” 

“Atticus,” Celine said. 

Harry nodded. “We found a journal.” 

“You’re lying,” she refuted instantly. “You can’t have Atticus’s journal. I have them all.” 

“Not his,” said Draco, obviously discontent to let Harry try to protect him. “Victoria Black’s.” 

Celine’s face smoothed in understanding. “Ah,” she said finally, put out. “Well that’s just bad luck.” 

“Celine,” said Draco carefully. “What are you going to do here? You’re caught, you’ve nowhere to go that will allow you to get away with this. Drop the wand and maybe we can help you.” 

_ “Help  _ me?” she hissed, incredulous. “You’ve ruined everything! Both of you! None of this would have happened if  _ you  _ hadn’t resisted!” 

She’d directed the last bit at Harry, her face twisted with wrath. Draco’s brows furrowed, confused. 

“My sleepwalking,” Harry said. “It was her. She was trying to lure me but you woke me up, so she took Cordelia instead.” 

“It was nothing personal,” Celine said, irritated. “I could hardly ignore a magical signature like yours, Harry. I hadn’t scented young magic that strong since Emily.” 

“Why would you do this?” 

The question had come from Cosima, and Harry admired the way her voice barely quivered. Her best friend had stolen everything from her and lied about it for six years. If Harry were her, he wasn’t sure he’d have the strength to face it, leave alone demand answers.  

“I did what I had to do,” Celine replied, callous. “I  _ deserved  _ magic, it was my goddamned birthright.” 

“My magic belonged to  _ me!”  _ Cosima exclaimed, her anger overcoming everything else, at least for the moment. “Not you! Fucking look at yourself, you can’t even  _ use  _ it! It just turned you into this–this  _ thing!”  _

“For now,” Celine allowed, shrugging mildly. “But it’ll be worth it soon enough.” 

“How?” Draco asked, genuine curiosity in his voice, as though he couldn’t fully help it. “How did old Atticus finally manage it?” 

_ “Seven, as is the seven of the seed of life,”  _ she recited by way of answer, sounding as though she’d said the words an innumerable amount of times. 

Harry didn’t particularly care to parse out what in Merlin’s name that meant. But he  _ did  _ need to keep her talking, distracted so she wouldn’t do anything rash before he came up with a solution. They’d left Edgar in the library; Harry was certain he must have worked it out by now.

So he said, “That doesn’t make sense. You’re a Kachol. Those creatures used to be wizards, they don’t become them.” 

“It only works at the right time,” Celine told him. “They wouldn’t ount without the solstice, would just make the… side effects worse.” 

“You’d become less of a person, you mean,” stated Draco bluntly. “Probably what happens when you try to use wizard spells, too. Explains why you look like you’re about to keel over just from taking our wands, at least.” 

Celine’s eyes narrowed, but it was becoming obvious that Draco was right. 

“Why me?” Cosima asked her, and her words increased in volume the more she spoke. “And  _ why  _ pretend to be my best friends for  _ years?  _ How you could you just sit there while I cried to you, while I trusted you?! How could you do that to me?” 

“Because she’s broken,” said Draco when there was no reply, not taking his eyes off Celine. “Because she doesn’t care, about any of you. She never did.” 

“Don’t you dare speak as if you know me,” Celine sneered, her red eyes flashing. 

“I know you,” Draco replied quietly. “Believe me, I do.” 

Harry felt rather than heard the portrait door behind them open slightly, and began talking, trying to prevent Celine noticing. 

“It was clever of you,” he said. “Playing like you were among the victims so no one would suspect you. Taking them all so far in advance so that no one had a hope of understanding. And when your magic miraculously ‘returned,’ you could have pretended it was luck until the day you died, right?” 

Celine’s blue upper lip pulled back. “You ruined  _ everything,”  _ she said again. 

That was more than enough for his friends underneath the cloak.  _ “Immobulus!”  _ called Maria’s voice, and Celine’s eyes went wide before she dropped, frozen, to the ground. 

 

‘&’ 

 

The news traveled quickly. Not two hours had gone by before the entire student body knew about what Celine had done. 

She was hidden away in the Headmasters actual rooms, since no one but a select few staff knew where that actually was. With the truth spreading like wildfire, too many people were coming round trying to get a glimpse of her. She was apparently being kept unconscious, given that there was no way to be sure she actually needed a wand to perform magic, and no way to anticipate how dangerous she was.

No one was entirely certain what to do with her. She was the only person in the world who knew for certain where Cordelia was being kept. And she still possessed all the magic she’d stolen. 

Now, Harry was stood outside of Fontaine’s small office, waiting for Draco to come out. The blond had been inside for far longer than Harry had, and Harry fretted uselessly. 

Eventually, though, Draco stepped out. He looked drained. 

“All right?” Harry asked when he didn’t immediately say anything. 

Draco started walking away before he answered. “They were interrogating me,” he said, “about all the technical stuff. They found her journals, or I should say Atticus’s journals. But the details of the ritual didn’t tell them anything about where Cordelia is. They thought, because we were… close, that I’d know something they didn’t. They told me to send Cosima in next, as well. You haven’t seen her, have you?” 

Harry hadn’t seen any sign of Cosima since the teachers had come to take Celine’s immobilized form away. She deserved space to process, he thought, and said as much. 

“Yeah,” agreed Draco, his shoulders slumping. “Salazar. She was my friend.” 

Harry pulled him into a fierce hug. “I know,” he said into his shoulder. Draco’s arms held him tightly for several moments before letting go. 

He seemed to shake himself into the present. “Did they say anything to you about what they were going to do about the magic?” 

Harry shook his head. “It was just about how we’d figured out it was her, where I thought Cordelia might be, all that.” 

Draco nodded. “They ought to be trying to find out how to get the magic back for Cosima and the others, I should think.” 

Harry stared at him, and then it clicked. “Oh,” he realised. “I think I know how to do that.” 

“What?” 

“When I saw her memory, I  _ saw  _ her take Cosima’s magic. Her mum helped her, and I heard the spell. I know how to get the magic out of her, at least.” 

Which was how Harry found himself, ten minutes later, standing in Fontaine’s rooms. It was about the size of a common room, with average looking bookcases and a glass table above a Persian carpet. There was a small, built in kitchen to Harry’s left. Celine was laid out on one of the worn leather couches, bright blonde hair spilling over the side as she slumbered. Her skin had returned to its natural, human colouring. 

“What will you do,” Harry asked the Headmaster, “when it’s out?” 

Fontaine leveled him with a look. “If this works as you claim it will, we will concern ourselves with the problem at that point.” 

Harry sighed, having expected some approximation of that answer. None of the teachers trusted him much, anymore. Then he lifted his wand, pointing it at Celine and taking a deep breath.  _ “Anima klevo!”  _

As in the memory, a long second passed in which there was no result. And then she lit up, so brightly that Harry had to look away. Behind him, he heard Fontaine gasp quietly at the sight. 

When Harry looked back, Celine’s lips were parted, and five minute orbs of colour glittered in the air above her, like ruby stars. 

“Are you prepared to concern yourself with the problem now, sir?” Harry asked, unable to help his cheek. 

Fontaine’s solution turned out to be guiding the magical remnants into a jar and placing said jar in stasis. Harry had to agree that that seemed as good a temporary solution as any. 

Afterwards, Harry was sent off to find Cosima. It was during his search that he ran, very unfortunately, into a familiar short, strawberry blonde.

“You!” exclaimed Crystal. “You know where they’re keeping that psychopath don’t you?” 

Harry glared at her. “If I did,” he said, “you would be the last person I would tell.” 

Her eyes went hard. “Well aren’t you just a peach.” 

Harry went to go around her, but she slid into his path again. “You and your friends don’t get to talk down to me,” she hissed at him, “not anymore. Your queen bee has been the one terrorizing the rest of us. You’re not superior.” 

Harry blinked at her, angered and disbelieving in equal measure. “Everyone is superior to you,” he assured her coldly. “Now get out of my way.” 

She didn’t move a muscle, so Harry stepped around her again. This time, she let him go. He was halfway down the hall before he turned back. “Oi, Crystal!” 

He waited until she turned to face him to speak. “There’s no more partners, in case you weren’t aware yet. Which means, if I ever see you within ten feet of Edgar again, you’ll regret it. Do you understand?” 

Her cheeks flushed with indignation. “Is that a threat?” she demanded. 

“I dare you to find out,” he replied, and walked away. 

It took him two hours to find Cosima. 

She was holed up in a hideaway she and Celine had showed him once, close to the start of term. She was leaning against the small window, looking out at the grounds far below. 

“It feels weird,” she told him, not lifting her gaze, “sitting up here without her. Wrong, even.” 

Harry sat down across from her, the window to his right. “I’m so sorry, Cos.” 

“You know,” she said quietly, “I used to think to myself… when it would get really bad and I’d get really down, I’d tell myself that I’d lost my magic but at least I’d found my best friend, and that maybe that was worth it.” 

He only listened, it was all he could do for her. 

“It feels like every memory I have is of her,” she continued. “In third year when I broke down and snapped my first wand in half, she was there. Telling me it wasn’t my fault. Telling me that it was okay to feel how I did. And the whole time, the  _ whole time…”  _

And then she was crying. Sobs wracked her body, and Harry pulled her into himself, letting her fall apart for a while. 

Eventually, she fell asleep. 

Harry was barely aware of drifting off. But in between one blink and the next, the sun had risen past the horizon, the enclosed little space flooded with light. He searched for what had woken him, and discovered Draco leaning against the wall, head cocked to the side a bit. 

Slowly, Harry noted his position. He’d fallen asleep sitting up, his back against the wall and knees bracketing Cosima’s torso as she snored lightly into his chest. It wasn’t hard to recognise what a casual observer would see. But Draco didn’t look upset. His grey eyes were, in fact, adoring, a small smile playing on his lips. “You’re such a caretaker,” he said, voice quiet. 

“You love me,” Harry replied, smiling.

“I do.” 

“You two are so mushy,” Cosima grumbled, and then groaned as she began to feel the kinks her slumber had earned her. “Shit,” she complained, extracting herself and standing up, stretching. 

“Fontaine’s not pleased, you know,” said Draco after a minute. “He’s been waiting on you all night.” 

“Interrogating me isn’t going to help him. I don’t know anything,” she griped. 

“Sure, but I imagine they want to see how your magic will react with you after so long,” Draco replied lightly. 

Cosima went still. “What?” 

Draco looked at Harry in surprise. “You didn’t tell her yet?” 

Harry looked away, sheepish. “There wasn’t a chance,” he said. 

“They got my magic from her?” Cosima asked, wonder in her voice. 

“Harry did.” 

Cosima looked at Harry, incredulous. “How?” 

“I- it’s not important. Let’s just go, yeah?” 

She nodded immediately, now understandably eager, and they all three headed quickly for the office, ignoring the whispers and looks from the few early risers they passed along the way. 

“Miss Taylor,” Fontaine said as they entered. The older man looked tired, bags under his eyes. He was not the only one in the room. Several Professors, Clark and Siskin among them, appeared to have been waiting for some time. Cosima looked at the ground, chastised. 

“So good of you to join us,” said Professor Siskin, a cup that must have been coffee in hand. 

“You have my magic?” she asked, somehow both excited and fearful. 

“We do,” said Fontaine, glancing at Harry. “The problem is that we have no idea how to return it you. We would not recommend Miss Moore’s method.” 

Harry, Draco, and Cosima flinched in unison, and Harry leveled the Headmaster with a glare. 

“It’s  _ mine,”  _ said Cosima desperately. “It’ll know me, won’t it? Just let me see it, at least.” 

At a look from Fontaine, one of the professors Harry didn’t know personally went towards the shelf, and grabbed the stasis jar off of it. Quietly, a counterspell was cast, and the magic came alive again, shining as brightly as they had yesterday. After a few seconds, one of the orbs began to move about the containment frantically, and Cosima gasped aloud. 

“Open it,” she demanded breathlessly, lifting an arm to reach out. 

As soon as the lid was lifted, the singular magic ruby was off, across the room and, like a bullet, slamming into Cosima’s chest. She grunted, like the impact had shocked her, and then she passed out.

 

‘&’ 

 

“I have so much schooling to catch up on,” Cosima was saying several days later. Her complaint fell flat due to her grin. 

She was always grinning now. Well, Harry amended, as long as no one mentioned Celine. 

After Cosima had woken, once again a witch, they’d called in each of the Taken. Jeremy had been the only other one still at Ilvermorny, while they’d had to send letters to the others in the muggle world. They’d all returned, none of them had refused, and their magic had gone to them with the same enthusiasm as Cosima’s had. 

Magic, it seemed, quite literally  _ wanted  _ to be where it belonged. Fontaine theorised that that was why Celine had placed herself so strongly in Cosima’s life, despite the extra effort her day by day deception likely required, because Cosima’s was the first magic that she had ever consumed, and it possibly had some degree of control over her. The proximity to its actual owner likely placated it some. It didn’t altogether matter, however. 

Celine had been revived when the last of the Taken had reclaimed their magic, no longer a threat, and had been persuaded to give up Cordelia’s location in exchange for an undefined sort of leniency. This location turned out to be the same dungeon Harry had seen, belonging to a one Vivianne Moore. The woman was, of course, no longer a government official, to say the least. 

The little girl had been woken from the charmed sleep Celine had held her in and had been returned to her family with the assurance that her magic had never been stolen and that she’d never experienced any pain. 

Celine and her mother were now locked away in Utxix̂, the official prison for the witches and wizards of the Americas, hidden somewhere deep in the Alaskan wilderness. Harry didn’t like to think about her, cold and forgotten. 

Hardly anyone ever dared to talk about her around Cosima. Their group preferred not to talk about her at all, but no one could deny the silent hole there was now. 

“I don’t envy all the makeup essays you’re going to have to write in the next year, for sure,” said Maria lightly. 

Cosima smiled wider, thrilled at the thought of magical homework.

Beside Harry, Draco was tense. Two days ago, he’d finally decided that it was time to contact his friends back home again. He’d stayed up that whole night, writing all his letters to send in one go. The replies would no doubt be arriving soon, and Harry could only hope all the Slytherins would be there for Draco after his loss instead of dwelling negatively on his and Harry’s relationship. Either seemed like a possibility.  

Harry himself hadn’t yet written to his own friends about Draco, or even about the tragedies he’d experienced this year. He wasn’t sure how, or where to begin, and the truth was that every time he sat down with a pen, he’d end up simply staring at the paper until he gave up. 

In Harry’s mind, he’d see them all in a couple of weeks, anyway. It had to be better to try explaining in person, right? 

The first few periods of the day went by in a stressful blur, all his professors gearing up for midterm exams next week. Harry envied his friends at Hogwarts, being spared from this particular misfortune. 

At lunch, for the first time, Draco had mail. A lot of it. The blond didn’t bother to eat, instead gathering up all his unopened letters and heading off to the dorm for privacy. Harry had to exercise a ridiculous level of restraint not to follow and ask to read along over his shoulder. 

For the rest of the school day, Harry cursed the fact that he and Draco didn’t share any other classes. By the time he met up with the blond that evening, Harry was almost unbearably anxious. He wasn’t entirely certain why, it wasn’t as though anything the Slytherins said would cause Draco to love him any less. 

Draco smiled when he saw him, and Harry felt everything inside him relax. 

“Hey,” said the blond when Harry had gotten close enough, and then kissed him. The Gryffindor, as always, melted right into it, unexpected or no. It went on until someone’s obnoxious whistle made them pull apart, reminding them they were in the middle of a corridor. Instead of looking around for the source of the sound, Draco just chuckled. 

Harry felt his heart pick up speed. He hadn’t heard the blond laugh like that, so carefree, in far too long, and he wanted to never stop hearing it. He smiled widely at the boy in front of him, barely refraining from kissing him again. “Good mood, hm?” 

“My friends are talking to me, Harry,” said Draco, overjoyed. “I can talk to them, they’re talking to me and they  _ all  _ seemed to have missed me.” 

“Of course they did,” Harry told him happily. 

The blond’s smile brightened further for a moment, but then it slipped, and Harry was sad to see it go. “They all were… really good, about my mum, I mean. Saying I could talk to them if I wanted.” 

“Do you want?” Harry asked, careful due to the tone.  

Draco lifted his eyes to Harry’s again. “I know this is probably a ridiculous question, since, you know, but… would it be all right if I were to… talk about my mum again with you sometimes? And, er, my dad, too?” 

“Draco,” said Harry, pained.  _ “Of course  _ you can talk to me about your parents. I didn’t know if you even wanted to anymore, but I’d love that.” 

The Slytherin stared. “Even… even if it’s about…?” 

Harry pulled him into a hug. “You can tell me anything you want to, anything you need to. The good and the bad, okay? I love you, that’s not going to change.” 

“Okay,” Draco said, and he didn’t let go for a long time. 

 

‘&’ 

It had been strange in a way that Harry would never have been able to describe, returning to London. It hadn’t yet gone five months since he’d left, but his entire life had changed so entirely that it felt like traveling backward in time. 

Grimmauld Place itself had appeared unchanged, but it had been different than he’d imagined to be inside again. Like the months it had sat empty had altered the house in some undefinable way.

Everything they’d left behind, which admittedly was not all that much, had still been in it’s same, untidy place, gathering dust what with Kreacher at Hogwarts and not around to take care of it. 

They had left the states yesterday, a friday, since Ilvermorny let its student’s go a couple of days before Hogwarts. 

Winter exams hadn’t been too bad in retrospect, and now there were more important things to be worried about. They were home —relatively speaking, in Draco’s case— and their friends would be visiting soon enough. Tonight, in fact. At least, when it came to the Slytherins, their relationship was known, Harry thought. Not that that was anyone’s fault but his own. Still, it almost made him wish that Parkinson and Zabini were arriving first. Almost. 

It had been a given that Draco would spend Christmas with Harry. The blond didn’t have anyone in the states to visit, and there was no way Harry would have allowed for him to spend the holidays alone at Ilvermorny. Cosima, Joshua, Edgar, and Maria all had family to stay with and wouldn’t have been able to offer their company, anyway. So Draco had happily gone along with Sirius, Remus, and Harry, and was staying with them at Grimmauld. 

Needless to say, neither was complaining about the arrangement. Sirius and Remus, understandably, did not allow the two teenagers to share a bedroom, however, here or at their flat in Boston. Right now was the first time they’d been left to themselves since the adults had picked them up from school grounds on Wednesday. Earlier, Sirius and Remus had gone off to shop, supposedly to be prepared for the guests they’d have tonight. More likely, they were doing something Christmas related that they didn’t want Harry knowing about just yet. Whatever the reason, Harry was more than glad to take advantage of the privacy. 

Which meant that, currently, he had Draco in bed, the Slytherin straddling Harry’s thighs and keeping his back pressed against the headboard as they snogged. Draco seemed determined to take Harry apart piece by piece, grinding his hips down against him, the friction delicious even through their trousers. He was making small, gorgeous noises into Harry’s mouth as he moved above him. 

Harry hadn’t the faintest where their respective shirts had gone, only a vague idea that he might’ve vanished them both some time ago. Draco’s bare skin was hot underneath Harry’s hands as he clutched at him, exploring his lower back and sides. 

He nearly protested the loss of Draco’s lips aloud, until they were pressed to Harry’s neck. They travelled slowly from there, the blond momentarily teasing the shell of Harry’s ear and sending shivers of pleasure racing through him. His hand was hot where he gripped Harry’s hip, the other threaded through his hair at the nape. 

Harry was moaning, his head thrown back to give the Slytherin better access to his neck. He was stifled only when Draco’s mouth finally returned to his own, a new intensity in it that Harry hadn’t ever quite experienced. He realised with sudden clarity where this might be leading, and was suddenly aching with want. This was the first time that they’d ever been entirely alone. At Ilvermorny, there was constantly someone who could walk in at any moment, dorm mates just outside the curtains, always only a silencing spell between the two of them and others. 

Harry was so caught up in it, in Draco, the taste and feel of him, the steadily mounting excitement, that he didn’t hear anything until it was far too late. 

The exclamation was not loud, more a strangulated whisper, but it may as well of been an explosion for the effect it had. 

“Bloody hell!” 

Harry’s eyes flew wide just in time to see Draco’s do the same, before the blond literally bolted upwards and off of him, just barely preventing himself falling straight off the side of the mattress. He made it to the edge of the room in seconds, standing in the corner farthest away to stare at a gobsmacked Ron Weasley, who seemed paralysed in the doorway, a shockingly flushed Hermione just behind him, wide eyed.  

Harry was similarly frozen, his mind failing to process it all quickly enough. “It’s noon!” were the first words he managed to choke out, almost a full ten seconds later. A feeble protest against this turn of events. Against the fact that his best friends were undeniably here, right in front of him, nearly six hours too early. 

“We wanted to surprise you…” Hermione breathed, apparently failing to find words with which to finish her sentence. But Harry understood anyway. They would never of imagined he’d have any problem with them showing up early, they’d all missed each other so deeply, after all. Merlin, he should have predicted this. Grimmauld wasn’t a secret headquarters anymore, the Floo was wide open for all those who knew where it was. Harry hadn’t been thinking of that, hadn’t considered it at all. 

Ron had yet to speak again, his eyes glued to Draco in utter disbelief. Draco, who looked very much like he was wishing desperately for his shirt back. It was a marvel to Harry that even now, in a moment like this, the sight of all that bare, flawless skin on display would distract him. 

“Could–“ Harry started, but then failed and had to clear his throat before trying again. “Could you both, er, wait for me downstairs a minute?” 

Ron’s eyes finally tore themselves from Draco to look at Harry, as though he were incredulous at such a request. Hermione, blessedly, stepped in before he could refuse. “Of course, Harry,” she said, visibly working to remain composed as she grabbed Ron’s arm and lead him out of the room and back down the hall out of sight. Harry waited until he heard the creak of their steps on the staircase before he turned to Draco, who’s shoulders had relaxed as soon as the two had gone.

“All right?” Harry asked, cautious. 

“I imagine that wasn’t how you wanted them to learn about us,” replied the blond. 

Harry stood from the bed, coming to a stop in front of his boyfriend. “It could have been worse,” he decided to say. 

“Even so.” 

“I’m sorry,” Harry told him quietly, taking one of Draco’s hands. 

The blond rolled his eyes. “You have nothing to apologise for. I’m sure the embarrassment will fade with time.” 

“I meant that I didn’t tell them before. I should have just–” 

Draco shook his head, cutting him off. “I understand why you didn’t.” 

Harry took his hand. “I’ve got to go down there and talk to them about… everything. I think it might be best I do this alone, especially now.” 

“I know,” said Draco. “I’ll be here.” 

There was something Harry didn’t like in the words. Anxiety the blond hadn’t been able to entirely mask.

“Draco. It doesn’t matter what they’re going to say,” he promised. “They’re not going to talk me out of anything.” 

“Their opinion matters so much to you,” was the reply. “I’d be a fool not to worry at all.” 

“I was worried about your friends, too, remember?” Harry reminded him. “And it turned out to be fine.” 

Now the Slytherin rolled his eyes again. “It’s hardly the same.” 

“Isn’t it?” 

“No,” insisted Draco. “It’s not. Because my friends knew how I felt for you since before I did, and only hated you because I practically ordered them to daily.  _ Your  _ friends hate me  _ for good reason.  _ It’s not like I can deny anything that they could remind you about. It’s not like I don’t deserve for them to despise me.” 

“So, what, you thought they’d show up and I’d end up demanding you leave?” Harry asked. “You can’t have thought that.” 

“I don’t. I didn’t, I only–” Draco released an aggravated breath. “They’re not obligated to give me a chance.” 

“I know,” Harry said gently. “But it’s going to work out all right.” 

“So optimistic,” Draco replied quietly, and then leaned in to kiss him again. 

Harry pulled away reluctantly after only a few moments. “I’ve got to get down there before Ron suffers a coronary.” 

“You might consider putting a shirt on.” 

A few minutes later, Harry was in the living room, once again standing in front of his best mates, though thankfully with the suggested shirt. 

“Hi,” he started, unsure. Then he sighed. “I don’t really know where to begin.” 

Hermione folded her hands in her lap. “It isn’t altogether a surprise that Malfoy’s been in America,” she told him after a moment, remarkably calm. “He’d vanished, and you were asking those questions about the Slytherins. I can admit that not everyone in that House is rotten, either. But, even I never expected to walk into  _ that.”  _

“You were…” Ron attempted to say, not quite managing it, “with him…” 

Harry nodded, scuffing his foot, his eyes on the floor. “Yeah.” 

_ “Why?!”  _ the other boy demanded. 

Harry steeled himself, gathering all of his courage to be able to look Ron in the eyes. “Because I love him.”

The redhead’s eyes went wide, and he rocked back on his heels, stunned once again. 

“He’s not… he’s not like he was before,” Harry told them, suddenly desperate to have them understand. “I didn’t just forgive him overnight. But he’s… you don’t  _ know  _ him. There’s so much that’s happened that I couldn’t tell you at the time and–”

“But why?” Hermione interrupted. “Why couldn’t you tell us?” 

“Bellatrix.” 

At that, both his friends stood a bit straighter. “We heard that she was dead,” said Ron. “From Tonks.” 

At Harry’s furrowed brow, Hermione explained, “Kingsley told Andromeda that she was safe, and, well, Tonks told the Order. But she didn’t really have details.” 

“I killed her,” said Harry, not wasting any time getting it out. 

Ron and Hermione each took in a sharp breath, staring. 

“I didn’t know how to explain everything in a letter,” he admitted. “But I did it for him.” 

“For Malfoy,” Hermione said, not asking. 

Harry nodded anyway and then, just as he had with Sirius and Remus, he started from the beginning. Only this time he spoke more about his friends in America as well, about Celine and everything she’d done, all of her lies. He told them about how, along the way, he and Draco had become friends, and then how they’d turned into more. So much more. 

By the end of it, they were all three sat a ways apart on the worn sofa, Harry staring at his hands instead of at them while he spoke. 

“I know that it’s a lot to take in,” he said at last, “and that you might not understand why. But he is… I love him, so much that I can’t even imagine being without him anymore.” 

He was so busy waiting for one of them to speak, not looking up, that he startled when Hermione was suddenly close, wrapping her arms around him. After so many months, the embrace felt like a weight lifting off of his chest. 

“Ronald,” Hermione said, and then Ron was there too, all three of them lumped oddly into a group hug. Harry felt suddenly giddy with relief, so much so that he found himself laughing, his shoulders shaking with it. And then they were both chortling along with him, loudly and carefree, tears in all of their eyes. Possibly a bit more than laughter would have caused. 

“Missed you, mate,” Ron said quietly, once they’d stopped. Hermione nodded her agreement into Harry’s shoulder. 

They sat in easy silence a while before, eventually, he had to extract himself. “Draco’s been sitting up there for a while…” 

“Go ahead,” Hermione answered his unspoken question. “I’d like to get to know the new him.” 

Harry looked to Ron, and the redhead nodded. “You’re my best mate,” he said simply. “And you say he makes you happy.” 

“So happy,” confirmed Harry. 

“Then it’s okay.” 

There weren’t proper words for how grateful he felt just then. So Harry simply went to call his boyfriend down. 

The first thing Draco did was take Harry’s hand. The second thing he did was apologise, so sincerely that it temporarily robbed both Ron and Hermione of speech. It wasn’t perfect, more than a bit awkward at first, but it meant the world to Harry to see them trying. 

Sirius and Remus arrived shortly after, loaded down with snacks and certain items that they wouldn’t allow anyone to see before rushing up the stairs. Discovering Ron and Hermione already present had not given them any pause at all. If they were surprised to have found Draco in the midst of it, everyone seeming to get along, they hadn’t given any indication. 

Several hours later, Pansy Parkinson stepped through the Floo, laid eyes on Draco, and promptly launched herself into his arms, her legs wrapping deftly around his waist. 

Draco gave a small ‘oof’ on impact before his arms went around her and he gripped her tightly, barely even staggering underneath her weight. The Slytherin girl was sobbing within seconds, hiccuping through muffled sentences. Harry caught words like ‘scared’ and ‘died’ and, at one point, ‘evil bitch.’ “I know, Panse, I know,” Draco repeated over and over through it all. 

“Already blubbering,” tsked Blaise Zabini seconds after he’d entered, “I’m shocked.” 

At that, Parkinson released Draco, landing back on her feet to turn around and glare at him for the comment, the tears on her face not affecting the severity of the look. Zabini, however, was unaffected. He simply walked over to Draco and clasped him on the shoulder. 

“It’s good to see you,” he said. 

“You’ve let your hair grow,” Draco commented in response. 

It was true. Despite how short the style still was, anything was going to be a noticeable change from the shorn head he’d used to have. 

“You all right?” Zabini asked, his voice turning mournful. 

Draco nodded. “Better than yesterday.” 

“Better than yesterday,” agreed Zabini. And then, having checked in on Draco, his sharp eyes assessed the rest of the room, landing, of course, on Harry. 

“Potter,” he greeted. “You’ve gotten taller.” 

“That tends to happen,” Harry replied lightly. 

“Can I trust you, Potter?” Zabini inquired, apparently too impatient to continue on with small talk. 

“Pardon?” 

“Allow me to rephrase,” replied the boy, “can I trust you with this idiot, Potter?” 

Draco rolled his eyes. 

“Of course you can,” Harry replied, serious despite the wording. “I’d never hurt him.” 

“Hm,” hummed Blaise, and Draco groaned. 

Sirius and Remus had never come back downstairs, allowing Harry and Draco to have the night to themselves with their friends. 

The six teenagers all spent the evening playing various games, chatting and catching up about the little things, a solidarity in their group that Harry wouldn’t have predicted. Parkinson spent the majority of her time laid out on Draco’s lap, and the blond’s smile every time he looked down at the girl warmed Harry’s chest. 

Harry was unsure if he was imagining it, but Hermione and Zabini were also very close, quipping back and forth. Except that it had a flirtatious quality to it. Harry recalled that they were Potion’s partners, and suddenly wondered to himself how much might’ve really happened at Hogwarts in his absence. Hermione hadn’t written all that much about Ron since September, and as he watched her giggle at something Zabini said, he was forced to consider that perhaps she was finally moving on from the idea of having him. 

He leaned in and whispered to Draco. “Does that look like what I think it does?” 

Draco had apparently noticed Hermione and his friend as well. “I dunno for sure about Granger,” he replied back, quiet enough for only Harry to hear, “but Blaise is definitely. A lot can happen in four months, S’pose.” 

“Oi, what’s the secret?” Ron asked, pulling them from their private conversation. 

Draco rolled his eyes, but he smirked a bit when he said, “I don’t reckon you’d want to know, Weasley.” 

As intended, Ron went crimson, and the Slytherin girl in Draco’s lap burst into giggles. 

Eventually, though, it grew too late to stay awake any longer. None of them planned to leave for a couple of days, so no one bothered to prevent themselves falling asleep. As Harry settled into their somewhat planned slumber party, he thought about how lucky he was. To have Draco, to have found him and what they had, despite everything. To have their friends here, with them and supporting them. 

Harry pressed his side up against Draco’s in the dark and thought how much he loved his life. 

  
  
  
  
  
  


**18 years later**

 

Draco was really quite spectacularly burnt. The saying that twice was a coincidence and thrice was a pattern went through Harry’s mind, and given that this was the third time they’d gone to Egypt, and similarly the third time Draco had been charred within the first two days, Harry was forced to concede that perhaps Draco and Egypt simply did not agree with one another. 

Harry had practically begged the blond to come back — it’d been many years since they’d visited this part of the world, and it called to Harry. When Draco and himself had first begun traveling the globe, practically as soon as they’d turned twenty and realised they were being stifled, showing up for meaningless jobs to make money they didn’t need and wasting it away on rent for their trashy Massachusetts flat, Harry had decided the first place he wanted to visit was where his family had once come from. His father’s side, that was. From there, they’d gone to Nigeria, then Turkey, then Spain. They’d spent over a year in South Africa before heading up to India, and then China for a handful of months. In the almost eight years they’d spent traveling, they’d been everywhere they could go at least once. But that’d stopped when they were twenty-seven, and Draco had looked over at him in a dingy hotel room in Peru and had told him he wanted their next adventure to be different. So six years ago, the segregate they’d found —a lovely Egyptian woman named Astennu— had given birth to their beautiful baby girl, and they’d returned to America. 

It hadn’t even been a discussion. America had been where Harry and Draco had fallen in love as teenagers, and where Sirius and Remus still lived, their marriage as solid and loving as they come. 

They’d both wanted their little girl to grow up surrounded by that, and to not grow up a spectacle because of who her fathers were, like she doubtless would have in Wizarding London. 

Lyra was their pride and joy. Her large grey eyes were the precise colour of Draco’s and her deep black hair was only a shade or two darker than Harry’s own, her skin just the same caramel given that Draco’s was so pale while Astennu’s certainly hadn’t been. Not that appearances mattered that much to Harry, he would have loved his daughter whether she’d resembled him or not, but he had agreed with Draco that it was nice having a child who could relate to him in that way —it also didn’t hurt that no one ever blatantly questioned his legitimacy as her father while they were in public. 

Currently, Lyra was staying with Edgar and Luna in Wales. The two had danced around each other practically since they’d first met, but hadn’t given in until years and years later—at Harry and Draco’s wedding no less. Harry had been married to Draco when they were twenty eight, in Jamaica, having both agreed it would be better for Lyra, who was only a couple of months from being born at that point, if they had that piece of paper. Pansy, however, would never have allowed them to keep their marriage a private affair between the two of them, and had called every single one of their friends to Negril before Harry and Draco had been allowed even a moment to protest. 

Not that they’d actually minded, in the end. Harry was more grateful than he could say for those memories. Draco, in a white shirt, barefoot in the sand, shaking his head and smiling at Harry as the sun set over the water. It had been the best day of Harry’s life, until their daughter was born, that was. 

At present, Harry and Draco had been in Egypt for nearly four days, this being the first vacation they’d taken since they’d settled down. Well, Draco’s profession couldn’t entirely be considered settled. He’d gone back to continue his education when Lyra had turned one, and had been a Cursebreaker for just about two years now. Harry, however, was used to staying home to look after her. She was more than enough to occupy him. Which meant, of course, that he was already missing her so much that he nearly felt ill, and was likely doing a poor job of hiding it. 

“You wanted to come so badly,” Draco reminded him aloud as they followed a ways behind their guide, confirming Harry’s suspicions. 

The brunet sighed. “And the first two days were fantastic,” he said. “But I just…” 

“I miss her, too,” his husband assured him gently. “And I do believe my skin has already had enough.” 

Harry looked around at the landscape mournfully. The vast desert beautiful beneath the shining sunlight. He loved it here. But, there was a but. “We’re pathetic,” he decided. “She is six years old.” 

“Yes,” agreed Draco simply. They both knew it didn’t make a difference. 

Harry bit his lip. “So, tomorrow then?” 

Draco gave him an unimpressed look. 

“Right,” acknowledged Harry, “fine, let’s go.” 

They apparated to the checkpoint. Given that their Portkey hadn’t been set to operate for another four days, that method was out. So, for their own sake, they took an aeroplane. It was a long five hours. 

“Probably best to wait until she’s a bit older to travel again, hm?” asked Draco during the flight, and Harry just nodded. 

Lyra was not displeased to have them return early. She screeched happily at the sight of them, one of Harry’s favourite sounds in the whole world, and leapt into his open arms. She then leaned out of them sideways to throw her small arms around Draco’s neck as well. Despite his visible burns, the blond made no complaints about the embrace.

Neither Luna nor Edgar seemed in the least surprised, only invited them to stay in the guest room so they could schedule for a Portkey and not have to use airline travel again. Harry and Draco didn’t want to deprive them of their time with Lyra, and they’d missed their friends as well. 

He thought about visiting with the others in person soon, their little girl coming along with them. Like they hadn’t done since she was a baby. 

“You won’t go away again, will you Daddy?” Lyra asked into his shoulder later that night as they sat on Luna’s sofa, her voice very small. 

“No sweet pea,” Harry replied quietly, smiling softly over at his husband where he was talking and laughing with Edgar. “Promise.” 

 

**_Fin._ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are at the finish. Thank you so much for reading! I hope you guys had a bit of fun with this and I'd love if you'd come chat with me in the comments c:


End file.
